Simul Prorsum
by Oparu
Summary: AU of the second half of s7, starting with 'Sub Rosa'. Set directly after my story "Synthesis". Jean-Luc and Beverly are newly marred and expecting a child. Kathryn Janeway joins the Enterprise as first officer.
1. Chapter 1

Saying goodbye to Will and Deanna is bittersweet, and Jean-Luc finds himself looking back at _Deep Space 9_ as if that will let him get another glimpse at his former first officer and counselor. The _Enterprise_ is still undergoing a refit on _Deep Space 9_, something that gave Beverly and himself just enough time to assemble their families and have a simple wedding.

Will and Deanna bid them goodbye right before they left the station. Will's been offered _Voyager _and Deanna wants to be with him. Jean-Luc understands that choice, more than he could have just half a year ago. His new first officer, Kathryn Janeway, has arrived and life is continuing. The _Enterprise_ just won't be the same without them.

His wife (he can't stop thinking of Beverly that way) is even more effected than he is. Her tears are still rolling slowly down her face but she smiles when she looks at him. This is their time, he reminds himself. A honeymoon, even just a few stolen days, is an indulgence he wants to take full advantage of.

Kissing her cheeks tastes like salt, and Jean-Luc adopts a grimace to earn a laugh. Beverly's fingers dig tightly into his arm as he sets the autopilot and turns in his chair to face her. Her knees are up and one arm is wrapped around them; even five months pregnant, she looks so small.

"I'll miss them too," he assures her, watching her in profile.

Jean-Luc spins her chair to get a better view of her face and kisses her chin. He follows her tears up and passes them to her forehead. "It'll take two hours to reach Bajor," he promises, lifting her hand from his arm and holding it. Touching her wedding ring, he smiles at her over the simple latinum band. "Not tired?"

Beverly moves her feet, shifting so they are beneath her. She kisses him on the lips, nearly entering his mouth before she pulls away. "No," she promises, and her smile becomes suggestive with a curl of her lips.

"Come here," he says, guiding her into his lap. One of the perks of the captain's yacht is the most comfortable chairs in Starfleet. Beverly straddles his lap and he runs his hands over her stomach before settling them on her hips. They haven't changed much, even as their child grows within her; her hips feel firm and muscular.

Kissing him again, she holds the back of his head as she kisses him deeply. Beverly's tongue conquers his mouth as much as she's already overtaken his soul. His hands leave her hips and run up her back. Beverly sighs into his touch, rolling her head back as she shifts in his lap.

"I've wanted you since you picked me up at my quarters," she groans and grinds her hips across his. When she tilts her head back, she's biting her lip. Her fingers dig into his arms and he slips one hand between them and caresses her enough to make her whimper.

"All that kissing…" She shakes her head and he remembers the spoons banging against glasses that insisted they kiss all through the reception.

Jean-Luc touches her lips with his thumb. "I can never get enough of kissing you," he murmurs, then runs his hand down her chest. He reaches for the catch of her uniform jacket and starts pulling it free. The little zipper inside begins to loosen and he slips his hands into the soft lining of her uniform. He cups one breast with his hand, squeezing it against her chest.

"Is that why you married me?" she teases, sighing into his neck. "To kiss me?"

"I got that before we were married," he retorts playfully, letting her strip off his uniform jacket. She kneads her fingers into his arm and rocks her hips back and forth again. The pressure of her makes him start to harden, and the heat of her makes him keenly aware of his need. Removing her jacket, he kisses her collarbone, then the base of her neck.

Beverly groans and reaches for his trousers. "I don't have the patience," she complains, kissing him hard and desperately. "I want you."

He drags her tank top up off her shoulders, exposing the soft skin beneath. Everything is bare and pale except for her bra. Jean-Luc runs his fingers down her side and stops, surprised by the roughness of her skin.

"Beverly?" he asks, lifting her from the line of kisses she is leaving on his neck. "Computer, lights to full intensity," he requests, holding her shoulder.

"Did you see this?" he asks, rubbing his fingers along the edge of a patch of skin. A thin, faintly greenish rash covers her skin in long trails, as if someone had painted it on with their fingertips from her shoulder to her waist.

"No," she looks at her skin in surprise. Beverly touches it then slips off his lap with a long sigh. "Doesn't look life threatening," she promises him with a quirked eyebrow. Stepping out of her trousers, she turns around and asks him, "Anything on my legs?"

Jean-Luc caresses the back of her knee, then runs his hands up the naked skin of her inner thigh. The strange rash, whatever it is, feels rough beneath his fingers. He parts her legs a little more, and follows the fingertip pattern on her skin. "You didn't feel anything?"

"No," Beverly shrugs, opening up a medkit. Running a tricorder over her body, she frowns. "It's an allergic reaction," she says, puzzled. "Must be those Cardassian sheets."

Jean-Luc leaves his chair, feeling the tightness of his trousers start to fade as his concern wins out. "I didn't know you were allergic to anything," he says, slipping his hands around her belly.

"I'm not," Beverly turns around and nuzzles him. "Looks like it's the baby," she explains, showing him the tricorder. "See?" She indicates a chart on the bottom. "Her histamine count is a little high. She's experiencing some kind of reaction to anaphasic energy. She's fine," she promises him, kissing his cheek to reassure him. "Don't know when I got exposed to anaphasic energy. That usually needs an organic host. Could be some kind of parasitic infection but if I had it, my reaction would be much more severe." She stares off towards the front of the yacht for a moment, trying to piece it together in her head.

"Anaphasic energy is rare," he says, taking the tricorder from her hands to peer at the baby. Watching his daughter move in the tiny blue image calms him and he relaxes against her. "As long as she's all right," he decides, the idea of making love slipping from his mind.

"Don't give up," she orders him, turning and undoing the button on the top of his trousers. "This will just take a minute. You can even help me with the dermal regenerator." Beverly presses it into his hands and lifts up one bare leg to balance it against one of the consoles. As he heals the imperfections marring her skin, she works with the medkit and then shoots herself twice with a hypospray.

"Explains the nausea from this morning," she says, checking herself with the tricorder again before she put it away. "I knew I was done with morning sickness."

"Oh?" he wonders aloud, finishing one leg and moving to the other. Running his hand over her smooth skin after the dermal regenerator, he cups her hip and moves on to her stomach. "You're sure it's not morning sickness?" Reaching for the clasp of her bra, Jean-Luc releases her breasts. Dropping the garment to the floor, he sees how far the rash has spread and frowns.

"No," Beverly sighs and turns to him, arms on his shoulders. "It's basic biology, if the baby's immune system gets upset, my stomach gets upset. If she reacts to anaphasic energy, I feel like my head's going to explode."

"So we're blaming her?" he teases, running the dermal regenerator up over her breast. It looks as if the rash had been left by someone touching it and for a moment, however insanely, the thought brings a pang of jealousy.

"Might as well," she answers, taking the dermal regenerator from his hands and setting it aside. "She's caused plenty of trouble for us so far and she's not even born yet. Wait until she's walking, or reading-"

"Or dating boys-" he adds with a shake of his head.

"Or girls-" Beverly corrects with a wicked smile.

Jean-Luc pauses on that thought a moment, and sighs. "I hadn't--" he lets the thought go and wonders how many other things he'll have never thought of. "Either way, she'll be a menace, considering how beautiful her mother is."

Smiling sweetly at the compliment, Beverly purses her lips then reaches for his trousers. "Where were we?" she asks him thoughtfully. "One of us is overdressed."

"So it would appear." He raises an eyebrow and lets her strip his clothing. Dragging her back to his chair, he eases her out of her panties. Beverly's hands made quick work of his shorts and she climbs naked onto his lap.

"This is better," she murmurs, nuzzling her way down his neck. Her hand touches his penis, caressing the shaft. Jean-Luc kisses her breast, taking a moment to suck her nipple before he reaches down across her stomach.

Beverly rocks over his thigh, rubbing herself against him. His fingers touch her clitoris, making her sigh before he moves his hand back up to her stomach. His hand needs to arc outward to follow the rounding of her belly. With the rash gone, her skin is again perfect and running his hands over it is a singular pleasure. Everything, from the tiny hairs along her arms to the curves of her hips, feels incredible beneath his palms.

She hurries, slipping her hand up and down the shaft of his penis until it is hard and full. Beverly shifts her hips, moving the alignment of their bodies that much closer. She takes hold of him again, and slowly guides him in. Watching her eyes shift when he enters her, Jean-Luc realizes how precious this moment is. It is something only he sees, something unique.

As she rises a little, she changes the angle and then rocks to pull him deeper. The heat of her around him and the way her legs move over his is intoxicating. It is rare that he gets to relinquish control and she loves taking it from him. Knowing her complaints about the weight and tenderness of her breasts, he is careful to keep them against his chest. When she leans back, he follows her breasts with his left hand, still wanting to touch them.

Beverly moves him in and out, urging him to thrust up when she needs him. Keeping pace with her, he brings her back, crushing her to his chest. Feeling his skin against hers, he lets go and lets her choose the speed. She rides him up and down; he cheats, bringing his hips up to meet her. Slipping his hand down her belly, he slips his fingers in place to rub against her clitoris.

The rhythm of her motion becomes chaotic, even desperate, and he's holding his hand steady against her lower back. Her head rolls back and then forward to rest on his shoulder. Her breath hisses raggedly, then she gasps and shivers from her orgasm. The shaking of her body against his and the knowledge of how vulnerable they are together runs through him with his own release.

Slumped against him, Beverly sighs and kisses his neck. He chases the sweat on her back with his fingers and holds her when she tries to leave his lap.

"You want to try the bed?" she whispers across his ear.

"Are you still going to be on top?" he jokes, letting her up and then standing to hug her close.

Beverly looks down at her belly then back at him thoughtfully. "I think you have a few weeks where you can still be on top," she says, kissing his cheek and heading towards the rear of the cabin. A towel hits him playfully in the face as he follows, staring at her legs.

* * *

He has known this was coming. It is an inevitable problem of his state of being that his vessels, no matter how he loves them and wills them to join him in immortality, are mortal. When Felisa's breath falters and stills he retreats to the candle. He doesn't have much time. The candle is confining, a poor shell compared to a woman.

He slips out when he has the strength. Felisa's body is still and cooling. Her white hair is soft against the pillow, her eyes open but lifeless; her heart, which had beat so long for both of them, is still. He can no longer use her body to support himself and he shivers from the cold. He will miss her; she has been a good host and he loved her.

His love never keeps them alive and he regrets that. It would be so much easier if one of them were fully compatible and they could merge completely. Felisa was close. He had such hopes for her. She lived much longer than he expected once he found the weakness in her brain. He was unable to fix it. It was tragic, of course, but unavoidable. They might not have been able to heal the weak blood vessel anyway if he had made her aware of it. Human bodies are so imperfect, so fragile; it is a shame they are so useful as hosts to him.

Now he needs another. Ronin expected to be on Caldos when Felisa died. The humans there were few, and he would have been careful to cultivate a new host. He expected her, the granddaughter, to come and be his host. Though she is here on this station, there is a complication growing within her. He has never taken a host while pregnant, and it appears it is not possible.

The child is incompatible; her nausea and the rash his touch left on her skin proved that. Barring removing the child as a complication, something messy and more dangerous to the potential host than he likes, the granddaughter is unacceptable.

That leaves him looking for a new host on the great metal circle. There are many minds here, many potential bodies. He much prefers a body. Being with someone is better, more mobile than technology, and he likes love. Love is pleasant. He can make them happy and they want him. If he is gentle, they want him more.

Someone will love him. There is a body out there that will be compatible with him and he will leave the cold, boring conduits behind. Slipping out into the dark, he approaches the bed and her sleeping form. His potential host is asleep and dreaming. Her dreams are quiet, even peaceful, and it will be easy to shift them towards something more interesting.

* * *

She tugs on her uniform collar - maybe a piece of hair has fallen down her back. Nerys bites her lip and tries to sit up straight. Fidgeting during a staff meeting is hardly becoming of the first officer. She just can't help it.

The slight itching that crept up on her ever since she'd gotten out of the sonic shower has moved from nagging to consuming. It is like fire beetles have gotten into her uniform. When she tugs on her sleeve, Sisko starts watching her. When she nearly jumps out of her chair, she has everyone's attention.

"You all right, Major?" O'Brien asks, clinging to his coffee cup as if she might knock it over.

"I'm sorry," she stammers, meeting the eyes of her colleagues in quick succession. "I itch."

"Itch?" Bashir repeats, leaving his chair and circling the table to pull back her sleeve. A host of bright red welts runs up her arm as far as he could push her sleeve. "Just your arm?" he asks before he looks down her collar. "Let's get you to the infirmary. It looks like some kind of extreme allergic reaction."

"You upset someone in the laundry, Major?" Sisko teases sympathetically.

"I don't know." Nerys shakes her head and tries not to scratch at her arms. Digging in her nails until she bleeds might not help the problem but it is becoming hard to restrain herself.

In the lift, Bashir takes hold of her wrists. "You'll just make it worse."

"I know," she sighs, biting her lip as she balls her hands into fists. "It just itches."

"Do you have any allergies?" he asks, trying to distract her. "Insects, chemical compounds, perfume, dyes--"

"No," she shakes her head sharply. "No, I spent years crawling around Bajor, I've had fleas and nothing happened to me."

Bashir smirks and Nerys wonders if hitting him would make her feel better.

"They didn't itch this badly," she explains to him.

"It just started?" he asks, following her briskly towards the infirmary. "In the conference room?"

"No," she stops walking, folding her arms as tightly as she can across her chest and bouncing up and down to distract herself from the fire burning across her skin. "It itched a little in the shower--"

"What?" he wonders when she stops. "Anything could be important. Acute allergic reactions are rarely this severe."

Suddenly embarrassed by the recounting, Nerys stares down before she can look back at him. "I had a dream."

He presses a cold hypo to her neck and she shivers as the fire starts to fade from her skin. Bashir brings her to one of the back rooms and starts stripping off her jacket. He orders a full blood panel from the nurse before he starts to pry.

"A dream?" he asks, gently peeling her jacket from her bright red skin. The welts have grown to the point where they merge. All the skin along both arms, down her chest, and she assumes her back as well, is red and livid.

"It was strange," she tries to call it back up. "Someone was touching me."

"Touching you?"

"Everywhere, my arms, my chest," she shakes her head, smiling foolishly at him. "I guess it sounds crazy, but he knew exactly how to touch me."

"He?" Julian wonders. "That would be the first time anyone's ever been allergic to a dream."

"Is that what it is?" Nerys asks, trying not to look at her arms. "An allergic reaction?"

"One of the worst I've seen," Julian says darkly, then he smiles. "Not to worry, a round of antihistamines and I'll have you back to your normal self."

* * *

They couldn't be further from the _Enterprise_. A handwritten note in halting Standard welcomes them and explains that their meals will be brought up from the main house. If they have requests or wish to cook for themselves they need only ask.

"And the blessings of the Prophets upon you both," Beverly finishes reading. "I like it here already," she decides, dragging her feet out of her boots and leaving them unceremoniously by the door.

Jean-Luc moves her boots to place them neatly next to his own.

She starts to laugh, rubbing his shoulder. "It's all right to have a little clutter," Beverly teases. "It's vacation." Slowly stripping off her sweater, she leaves it in a heap on the chair and continues to laugh as he rolls his eyes.

Both of them changed before landing and the silky tank top she wears underneath her sweater reveals her pale shoulders and arms. Jean-Luc's smile softens as he takes her into his arms. She understands the gentleness in his eyes once his attention drops down to her belly.

"When can we start talking to her?" he asks, surprising her with his innocence and neatly changing the subject from the tidiness of the room.

Kissing his forehead, she moves one of his hands from her upper arm down to just above her navel. The baby is high in her womb and has been all day. Beverly rests her head against his, letting him press lightly against her belly until he finds one of the appendages their daughter insists on lashing out with indiscriminately.

"Whenever you want," she answers, grateful that she can share this with him. "Her hearing is starting to develop and she'll know your voice soon. Just remember that mommy can hear you too. No plotting until she's out on her own."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he answers, deadpan. Jean-Luc's eyes are wide and calm and she likes seeing this rare side of him.

Beverly shakes her head as she kisses his cheek. "Good," she says, easing up her tank top so his hand rests against her bare skin. "Whatever should we do before dinner?" she asks playfully.

His chuckle and appraising glance around the living room suggest she has yet to tire him out. Beverly is glad, even grateful for his stamina. The second trimester makes her easy to arouse, and living with Jean-Luc is a nearly constant set of triggers. His arms, his voice, occasionally even the way he looks at her makes her want him.

Kissing her, Jean-Luc draws her slowly back towards the bedroom. The wooden door opens with a creak as he leans against it and Beverly remembers the sounds of Nana's little house on Caldos. It was good to see her. She doesn't see her grandmother enough and adding to her family has reminded her how small and precious hers is.

He breaks the kiss, sitting down on the bed and studying her.

Beverly once thought she was good at hiding her emotions. Perhaps she still is, just not from him. Even while kissing, he feels her shift in mood.

"I'm glad Nana and Wes made it," she explains, holding both of his hands tightly. Jean-Luc's eyes are on her belly and that makes her smile. "You mean the universe to me," she murmurs, rubbing the back of his head. She loves running her fingertips through the short hair on the back of his head. "So does Wesley and the baby. It was just so wonderful to have everyone in one place."

His patient smile warms her and reminds her why they are in the bedroom. "I'm glad you got to see them both. Wesley just keeps getting more like-"

"-Jack," she finishes the thought with a sigh, taking a deep breath and bending down to kiss him. The warmth of his lips brings her out of the past. "Were you surprised Robert came?"

"Surprise is an understatement," he says, tracing the left side of her belly until his hand lands on her hip. "We've always been at odds," Jean-Luc mused, speaking to the baby instead of her. "Your uncle Robert is a stubborn man, much like your grandfather-"

"And your father," Beverly interrupts, mocking seriousness as she addresses her womb.

"Mother too," he adds, glancing up and smiling at her. He holds her hips in both of his hands, keeping her close. Watching him talk to the baby melts her heart and she teases him to keep the tears out of her eyes.

"Could he have scowled more?" she taunts, sitting down on the bed next to him and lying back. Jean-Luc follows her, lying on his side so he can trace lazy patterns on the skin of her belly. The combination of the external motion and the internal flutterings of the baby is a strange way to be tickled, but she loves it.

"Scowling means he's happy," he insists, slowly pulling up her tank top up further so it's only on her breasts. "I didn't understand it at first, but I believe it's simply his way of expressing himself. A different scowl for each emotion."

Trailing her fingers across his bald head, Beverly sighs peacefully when he kisses the skin of her belly. His lips are warm and gentle. She enjoys thinking the flurry of motion that followed from the baby was a response, no matter how unlikely that is. Beverly likes knowing they were connected. It's important that Jean-Luc be nearly as close to the baby as she is. Having them both gives her a sense of completion she'd only briefly felt before.

This time is different. Softer, slower, and somehow more poignant then the last time she'd been pregnant. She needs him in a way she'd never let herself need Jack. Being pregnant when she was young and barely sure of her life was a different experience. When she was alone then she talked to Wesley more about cellular biology and the frontiers of microsurgery than his family. Wesley had very little family. With both of his parents orphaned at a young age, Nana, Jean-Luc and Walker were all they had to offer Wesley.

The corners of her eyes are damp, when Jean-Luc finishes kissing his way up to her cheek. He runs a finger along her cheek, then kisses her softly. He won't ask, though he'll have his suspicions until she tells him.

Beverly catches his face in her hand. "I was thinking about Wesley."

"He seems well," Jean-Luc assures her, smiling that reassuring smile he saves for her most disconcerted moments. She'll never admit how much she depends on that smile.

"He does," she reminds herself, taking the moment to kiss him. The kiss deepens and Wesley begins to slip from her mind. He is safe. He is becoming an adult so quickly that she wonders if he is aging faster whenever she is away from him.

"I'm glad you have family," Beverly says, shivering in anticipation when he strokes her inner thigh.

"I hope you will consider them yours," he says. The sincerity Jean-Luc puts into that wish eases her heart. "I didn't tell you how honored I am you chose to take my name."

Beverly grins wryly up at him. "I'll always be Beverly Howard, and I was Crusher for a long time. It'll be interesting to see how I like Picard."

"You're not interested in making me try on Howard?" he wonders, slipping a hand beneath the waistband of her trousers.

Easing his shirt free of his trousers, she shakes her head. "Sounds odd with Jean-Luc."

Relief dances through his eyes and his smile deepens. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Such a gentleman," she murmurs, nuzzling his neck.

"Maman knew the kind of sons she wished to raise," he offers. The mother's-little-boy side of her new husband is one of his most endearing. He slides her trousers off and Beverly lifts her hips to ease his task. They've already made love twice that day, but she loves that neither of them are interested in taking a break. It is Jean-Luc's first honeymoon and she wants him to enjoy every moment of it. The fact that her enjoyment falls hand in hand with his just makes it better.

Slow fingers ran over her panties, threatening to remove them before he wanders up to her bra. Finally tugging the tank top over her head, he starts focusing on her breasts.

"Shouldn't even have bothered to get dressed," she sighs, wriggling her shoulders free of the straps. Removing her bra, he trails his fingers over the lower curve of her breast.

"That would take away some of the adventure." He kisses her breast, avoiding the nipple and wandering towards her collarbone. Distracting him from his journey, she assists him out of his shirt. Rolling him back, she runs her hands up his chest. Feeling the traces of stubble on his neck as she kisses him, she shifts to his lips.

He squeezes her breast when she kisses him deeply. She gasps with the touch. Her breasts seem to get only more sensitive as her pregnancy continues. The flat warmth of his palm, moving in a slow circle, teases that nipple erect. It is a slow business, more shifting skin than impatient gasps. He toys with her hair, lovingly brushing it aside to kiss her forehead.

"Wouldn't want this to get boring," Beverly teases him, raising her knee against his side.

Laughing, he pulls himself over her, and bends back her leg. The warm weight of him on her stomach is gentler than it was a few weeks ago. He is already careful to avoid the roundness of her belly. She hopes she won't have to remind him that it is still her, and not something he need treat like a precious artifact. He kisses her cheekbone, follows her jawline and then pays his attention to her clavicle. Jean-Luc's fingers dance along it, feeling out an invisible etching only he knows.

"Empires will collapse and stars will go out before this," he pauses, dropping to her breast and sucking it until she gasps, "you, ever become boring." The wet heat of his mouth leaves a cool spot on her breast that sends the nipple into a sharper point.

"Even if you have to share?" she asks, guiding her other breast towards his mouth as she digs her hands into the back of her neck. His mouth on her skin sends little shocks down her stomach that settle between her legs. Tilting her pelvis up towards him, Beverly moans when she finds his hip. His solid flesh gives her something to push against.

Sending her hands down his spine, she slides one around his hips and tugs his shorts down. With his help, they come all the way off. With him finally naked, her hand grasps his penis. Grabbing the base of the shaft, she surrounds it with her fingers. Running her thumb over the head, Beverly squeezes, then releases him. Stealing her own wetness, she returns to him with slick fingers. She sighs greedily when Jean-Luc rubs her clitoris. After a few quick circles of his fingertip, he moves his hand lower and slips his fingers into her vagina.

They aren't enough to ease the ache, but they are hard and insistent; in just the right spot. Rubbing her body against him, she slides her hips down until they are directly beneath his penis. Jean-Luc's erection is hard and hot against her thigh. He moves his hand, returning to her clitoris while she guides him in. At first he is gentle, pausing halfway in. Then, deepening the angle of his hips, he fills her. Long, slow thrusts are unhurried and flame the heat in her belly.

Her body starts to tingle, beginning in her hips and building upwards towards her stomach. Grinding against him, she aches when he pulls out and moans when he returns. The short, clipped sound of his breath means he is with her. Pushing deeper and moving into her, he lies above her. His chest brushes against her, crushing her breasts. He catches her hand, pressing it into the bed. Jean-Luc's body stiffens, almost as if he's caught in time. He kisses her, distracting himself from the impending climax.

Beverly sighs into it, gasping when he starts thrusting again, harder. Her head pulses, warm, then hot with orgasm. Holding his hand and his shoulder, she waits for him. The little, rippling aftershocks settle into her stomach, slowing after he orgasms.

He rolls off, resting his head on her chest and his hand on her stomach. "I can learn to share," he whispers gruffly, still catching his breath. It takes her a moment to remember the conversation about their family and another moment to have enough breath to reply.

"Might change how often we can do this," she warns him, reaching to retake his hand.

"Babysitting," Jean-Luc decides, squeezing her fingers in response. "Worf, Geordi, Wesley… lots of babysitting."

She laughs, bouncing his head on her chest. He lifts it, skin still pink from exertion. He holds her cheek, kissing her slowly before he resettles around her to hold her. They lie there, wrapped around each other until Beverly decides it's time for dinner.

* * *

Pinching the bridge of her nose isn't helping, tea hasn't worked and all the mental disciplines she can employ aren't shutting it out. Lwaxana loathes her headache, as if she can drive it away by sheer force of will.

She taps the door control for the third time, hears the chime ring through the doors to Felisa's quarters and snaps irritably at the computer. "Computer, she's not answering. Location of Felisa Howard, because it's definitely not her quarters."

"Felisa Howard is in her quarters." The computer responds, as it has three times before in the voice that is, she has suspected ever since she'd met that darling little computer programmer, hers. It does make it easier to accept the computer as being right, even when it is wrong. Which, it has to be now because she can't sense anyone on the other side of the door.

She needs Odo. The computer is wrong. Damn things can't be trusted anyway. Looking up at the door, she puts her hands on her hips. "Computer, bring me Constable Odo."

"Do you wish to speak to him?" The computer voice offers.

"No," Lwaxana blows air angrily out of her mouth. "I need him here, bring him here now." The computer chirps but doesn't respond. Finally, out of desperation she says, "Please." Deanna is always trying to get her to be more polite. Maybe that's what the computer wants, though it should practice politeness itself before trying to instill it in her.

She paces irritably, scanning the station for Felisa's mind. There are many voices, but she can sift through them. She is a daughter of the Fifth House, after all. Felisa isn't here. Every instinct in her mind, every part of her senses insists that Felisa is not on board the station. Has she been kidnapped? Taken somewhere?

"Ambassador?" Odo's dry voice finally appears behind her. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Odo," she sighs in relief. "Just who I needed. Felisa's in here. At least, the computer thinks so but she's not there." She pauses, running her fingers across her forehead. "She's not there. I can't sense her. She can't possibly be there."

"And the computer insists she is?" Odo asks, patient and accommodating as always.

"It _does_," Lwaxana responds, pointing up at the ceiling in disgust. "It's wrong."

Odo nods once and then speaks to the door. "Computer, override the door, authorization Odo, chief of security, Episilon-Two-Three-Lambda."

The door slides open obediently, as if it has been waiting for Odo all this time.

Lwaxana starts to rush in, but Odo stops her. "Please," he says gently. "Allow me." Thinking how gentlemanly he is, Lwaxana follows him in, a step behind. The living area is neat and there is no sign of a struggle; no signs of life, either. Lwaxana's stomach starts to twist. Something's wrong. It is nearly supper time and a cold cup of tea sits in the replicator. Someone had forgotten to recycle it away.

Odo takes a step into the bedroom and stops. Lwaxana doesn't need to be able to read his mind to see the sudden stiffening of his posture. He can be so humanoid at times she almost forgets what he is.

Lwaxana looks at him sadly, her eyes starting to sting as she moves towards the bed. There is no need to hurry. The small, white haired body lying under the blankets, face turned to the side, is definitely dead. All that had been poor Beverly's grandmother is already gone.

"Looks like she went peacefully," Odo says, shifting on his feet when she wraps her hands around his arm for comfort. "No signs of a struggle or foul play." He taps his communicator. "Odo to sickbay. I need a medical team in guest quarters, level twenty-three. No need to hurry, this is a request for the morgue."

"Acknowledged," comes the polite voice of that cute young doctor. "May I ask who it is?" She can't remember his name. He's tall, human, with dark eyes and a gentle smile but she can't quite put her finger on his name. If it were anyone but Odo, she could pull it out of his mind.

"Doctor Picard's grandmother," Odo clarifies for Bashir, Lwaxana finally remembers his name. "I will speak with Commander Sisko and Commander Janeway and see how they wish to approach the situation."

"A team will be down in a few minutes," Bashir says, and Lwaxana can sense the sorrow in his tone. "Seems unfair to pull them back from their honeymoon for a funeral."

"Thank you, Doctor," Odo finishes, rolling his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, Odo out." He closes the channel.

Lwaxana takes a few steps towards the body and slowly closes Felisa's eyes. The chill of her flesh against Lwaxana's palm makes her shudder sadly. "On Betazed, it was the custom to put the bodies of our dead back into the ground so that they could again be new life. Now we cremate the bodies. Of course, on Betazed we know instantly when someone has died, because we're all connected. Families gather, summoning each other, and they burn the bodies."

She stands, staring down at the quiet form of the woman she had quickly become so fond of and feels Odo pat her shoulder. Surprised and touched by the gesture, she covers his hand with hers and waits for the medical team.

* * *

Jean-Luc is the one who notices the chirp of his communicator from the bedside table. Shifting in bed wakes Beverly and he immediately wishes he'd never heard sound.

Beverly groans, knocking her shirt off the foot of the bed with her movement. "Don't answer it," she whispers, rubbing a hand along his arm. "We're on vacation."

He pats her hand, agreeing with the sentiment. Something feels amiss. The _Enterprise_ would never contact them unless it is something important. It is possible it is just Janeway locking herself out of the command codes, as Jean-Luc did as a lieutenant commander. His captain had only been in the baths on Trill, not on his honeymoon, but the embarrassment still stings a little. Moving Beverly's hand off his arm, he reaches for the communicator and activates it.

"Picard here."

"Captain Picard," Beverly murmurs, sleepily wrapping an arm around his chest. "You have to use your rank or they'll get confused."

He smirks down at her. "Surely they can tell by the timbre?"

Beverly yawns and lifts her head a little. "You can never be too careful."

The voice on the commbadge, Commander Janeway, responds. "Captain, my sincere apologies for bothering you, I know it must be some ungodly hour on that side of the planet."

"It's all right, Commander," he replies, still smiling as Beverly shakes her head that it is not. "What can I do for you?"

"Unfortunately," Janeway pauses and Beverly sits up, suddenly wide awake.

"I don't believe it," Beverly sighs, exasperated. She drops her chin to his shoulder and glares at the communicator. "We're being recalled. On our honeymoon," she whispers halfheartedly. He realises that she doesn't care if Janeway hears her displeasure.

If Janeway has heard, she keeps her reaction out of her voice. "_Deep Space 9_ needs both of you to return. The _Enterprise_ is still undergoing her retrofit and the runabout _Mekong_ has been sent to retrieve you."

Beverly's eyes are wide as he reaches for one of the flashlights they'd brought in from the captain's yacht. "We need an escort?" she murmurs, still incredulous.

"Are you going to elaborate, Commander?" Jean-Luc asks, trying to calm Beverly with a hand on her arm.

"Captain," Janeway's tone fades and he feels his heart drop in his chest. "I regret to inform you that Felisa Howard was found dead in her quarters. She died peacefully in her sleep. Doctor Bashir reports that she felt nothing and went quietly. I thought you should be informed immediately. My heart goes out to you both, Captain."

Beverly is already out of bed before he ends the conversation with his new first officer. In the weak light of the flashlight, she's pulling on her clothes. Jean-Luc fumbles for the lighter and then gets the old gas lantern going in the ceiling.

"Beverly," he begins, wishing he could take away the pain he sees in her shoulders. She pulls on her sweater over her camisole and looks up at him with tears in her eyes. He hurries to her side. He expected much more of a pause before her tears. She usually fights so hard not to cry.

"She made it to our wedding," Beverly remarks, both hands resting on her belly protectively. "She got to feel the baby kick. She was so happy." She shakes her head slowly and then reaches for him. The hug is tight and he can feel her heart beating quickly through their embrace. "She was over one hundred years old," Beverly mutters into his shoulder. Her fingers flutter and then settle on his back. "She led a good life."

"We should all be so lucky," he agrees, keeping his hold on her. A year ago Beverly might have told him she was upset, but he probably wouldn't have seen her cry. Now, that vulnerability doesn't seem to bother her at all.

She releases him reluctantly and one hand stays on his back. "I need to find my pants," she says, smiling through slow tears. "Can't be half-naked when the runabout gets here."

It was thoughtful of Janeway to send the runabout. He could have flown them back but he'd rather not be the pilot tonight. He wants to be sitting next to her. That's where he belongs. He kisses her cheek, holding the moment and wishing he could take the pain from her heart.

"Love you," Beverly whispers before she slips away, pulling on her trousers before collecting her things. He dresses quickly and because his belongings are less scattered than hers, he's still helping her with her socks when their commbadges alert them to the runabout's arrival.

Taking her hand, he waits for her to meet his eyes before he agrees to the transport. Beverly's done crying for the moment but the sorrow is still plain in her eyes. Felisa raised her, was like a mother to her. Jean-Luc keenly remembers the loss of his mother and father and realizes sadly that their child will have no grandparents. He barely knew his but he spoke to them. He knew their voices and the feel of their hands. His daughter won't have the luxury and he wonders how they can connect her to her past.

The transporter whisks them up and a polite junior officer nods to them. "Captain, Doctor. I'll have you back to the station in no time, sirs."

Beverly's hand finds his and stays there, cool and tightly wound into his fingers. She says little but his touch and his presence seem to comfort her. Jean-Luc's mind wanders through the deaths of his father - remarkably quiet, considering his life - and the death of his mother, more tragic when a virulent lung ailment moved faster than medicine could cure. He wasn't there for either of their deaths. He came home, when he could, but he has never been the one to prepare the body or worry what he is going to say in a eulogy. He's seen that responsibility fall all too heavily on Beverly before.

She puts her head on his shoulder, and he takes it as a cue to wrap his arm around her back.

"I'm tired," she says with a weak smile.

"It's oh-four-hundred," he answers. "You're allowed."

"Someone thinks it's morning," Beverly says, frowning down towards her belly. "She also likes to exercise in the morning."

His free hand runs over her belly, searching for the point that's frustrating her. She drags his hand over and the speed of the repetitive tapping surprises him. She laughs weakly and he wonders how far up his eyebrows went.

"Fast, isn't it?" she says, gripping his hand a little tighter. "Sometimes I wonder if she can tell I'm upset. If she's reacting to the tightening of my diaphragm or the way I can't sit still." They both look at her trembling hands and he rubs his thumb slowly over the seemingly anxious baby.

"Maybe she's happy," he suggests, trying to cheer her up. "Maybe she likes space flight, or she knows we're talking to each other and she's reacting to our voices. You said that could happen."

Beverly's smile is indulgent but he's warmed by it anyway. "She has to like space flight," she agrees. "It's going to be a big part of her life." Somehow that cheers them both and, talking in hypotheticals about things their daughter might one day experience, far too many for one lifetime, they pass the time until they dock.

As they disembark, Beverly puts her arm in his. The gesture makes him feel oddly protective, and reminds him that his responsibilities have changed. Now it's his privilege as well as his duty to protect and support her. They've only been married a few days and he's still awestruck by their partnership. He stares into infinity each day on the _Enterprise_ but an infinity with her thrills and terrifies him.

Beverly kisses his cheek, smiling even though her eyes are sad. "I'm glad you're with me," she explains. She doesn't add if she means at this moment, or in the airlock, or if she's thinking of the rest of their lives as he is. Jean-Luc has to force his eyes forward because he can hear the huge red door spinning out of the way.

Wesley looks up at them from the bottom of the airlock ramp, his eyes going immediately to his mother. She lets go of his arm and goes to her son. Losing his great-grandmother took away the last of Wesley's family and Jean-Luc still doesn't know what position he should have in the young man's new one. Does Wesley need a father, a confidant, a role model? How can he be all of these things, or any of them when he's never even tried before?

"You'll figure it out," Lwaxana assures him in a gentle voice. He didn't immediately notice her, and that surprises him. Silence from her is rare but he's touched that she was here for Wesley. "Of course I would be," she chastises him for the thought. "Poor boy had enough on his mind without dealing with death alone." Wesley and Beverly walk ahead, and Lwaxana stays by his side as they head for the promenade and the lifts.

"Thank you," he responds sincerely. She can sense his gratitude, of course, but he feels better saying it aloud. "I appreciate knowing we have your support."

"Always," she promises, patting his shoulder. "Any assistance you need with marriage you just ask. Gods know I've been married enough times to have been in almost every situation." She chuckles a little. "You're off to a good start. There's a glow in her cheeks and even in grief, she's happy. I've always thought you'd make a wonderful husband. Beverly deserves to be happy and you, definitely make her happy."

"Jean-Luc?" Beverly summons his attention, and Lwaxana's hand rests on his shoulder as they speed up to meet her. "I need to go to the morgue."

"I'm coming with you," he offers immediately. Jean-Luc won't let her go down there alone and her tiny smile reminds him that she wants him there.

"I have to talk to the Academy and see if I can get an extension on my leave. Then I'm going back to bed," Wesley says with a yawn. "Sorry mom. I'll come see you guys for breakfast, okay?"

"I'd like that. Good night, sweetheart." Beverly hugs him again and Jean-Luc's glad Wesley is here. It was a gift to have him for the wedding, and having him here now is bittersweet. Felisa was Beverly's entire world growing up and he imagines it must feel like losing both parents in one blow. She's had so much grief in her life, and he deeply respects that she's dealt with it all so gracefully.

"Of course," Jean-Luc turns to Lwaxana. "You'd be welcome as well."

She pats his hand, and remarks, "Always the gentleman, aren't you?" She nods graciously and despite his trepidation, he'll be glad of her company if the conversation slows. "I'll see you in the morning then."

She pauses, looking past him to his wife. Taking Beverly's hands earnestly, she looks into her eyes. "The end of a good life is cause for celebration and joy for a journey well travelled. Joy doesn't have to mean the absence of sorrow. It's just that grief makes our joy that much brighter, and that much sweeter at the end of the day." Silk rustles as Lwaxana hugs Beverly tightly. Even in the middle of the night, she's spectacularly dressed.

Beverly blinks a few times, fighting tears she doesn't want to shed Lwaxana leaves them alone. She keeps her hands by her sides, too grieved to even fidget as she usually does. He lifts his hand towards the infirmary and places the other on her back. There isn't anything to say as they enter the quiet infirmary. The carpeted floor eats the sound of their feet and Jean-Luc's glad it's not metal. The silence seems more suited.

"Captain, Doctor, Doctor Bashir is sleeping and sends his regrets," the night doctor, a slim Bajoran woman, says as she welcomes them. "I can show you to the morgue, if you'll follow me please."

"Has an autopsy been performed?" Beverly asks, her voice cool and formal. Jean-Luc wants to wrap an arm around her shoulders and comfort her but he'll wait. For the moment, he will follow her until she needs him.

"It wasn't deemed necessary after the initial scan," the doctor says, opening the door into the morgue. She heads for the vacant desk and finds the report. She hands it to Beverly and heads for one of the drawers. "The cerebral aneurysm was clearly a natural cause of death."

The doctor waits by the drawer for Beverly to scroll through the report. She knows death certificates, and Jean-Luc can see enough of it to agree. He would have signed off on it, all is in order, but it's her grandmother and that must make none of it seem right. He brings his hand again to the small of her back, wanting her to know he's here.

"She didn't suffer." Beverly interprets the report, either for him or herself, Jean-Luc can't be sure. As much as he wants to hold her closer, he'll respect decorum until they're back in their quarters.

"Passing in one's sleep, with family nearby after a long life," his voice seems almost out of place, and he smiles. "It's a graceful end." Something he'd like to have, after a century of life.

Beverly turns her head to him, eyes bright as she blinks rapidly. Her hands fidget with the padd containing the death certificate, fingers running anxiously along the edges. What can he do except remind her life continues; that Beverly's life is a beautiful testament to her grandmother's will and loving heart? He loves her and he would do anything to ease this loss but he knows there's little for him to say.

Beverly hands the padd back to the night physician and nods for her to open the drawer. Her hand takes his on the way back to her side. She pulls his hand away from her back and holds it tight. Her fingers have grown cold between the runabout and the infirmary, and he wraps her hand in two of his. More interested in her than the corpse, Jean-Luc barely looks up from her hands to see the peaceful body of the woman who just attended their wedding. Still silent, Beverly reaches for her grandmother's shoulder and rests her hand there.

The night doctor makes eye contact with Jean-Luc when Beverly doesn't look up. "May the Prophets guide her home," she wishes in blessing before she leaves them alone.

Fixing a curl of her grandmother's hair, and a wrinkle in the sheet covering her, Beverly takes a slow breath and he can hear it catch in her throat. The second one is no better, and he releases her hand to embrace her shoulders. Suddenly she looks away from the body, burying her face in his neck. There's no mistaking the warmth of tears on his skin. He turns, putting his other arm on her shoulder, and she's in his arms. Her hands are tight against his back, holding him as if he too might vanish.

He's seen her upset. He's watched her through the darkest parts of her life, and yet, this is the first time he's truly been a part of her suffering. The moment extends, and Jean-Luc is reminded that they are a unit. He's said the words, thought about their marriage, and understood the theory but it's still new to him. This grief is theirs as much as it's hers. His nervousness and fear, that he wouldn't know what to say or do, melts away because holding her is exactly right.

* * *

The lights are still being replaced in the observation lounge, so the staff meeting is held on the bridge. Beverly rests her hands on her knees as she sits in the chair next to Jean-Luc's in the center. He's pacing, something that happens too readily when he doesn't have a table to confine him. She almost feels bad for Geordi and poor Commander Janeway, not because Jean-Luc is being impolite, but because it's not an easy thing to tell the captain he can't have his ship when he wants it.

"Full overhaul means full, Sir," Geordi reminds him, standing near the OPS console. "We still have open ODN lines on eight decks, and the Observation Lounge is one of a dozen other places still completely in the dark while we swap out lighting. We can ask for more crew from _Deep Space 9_, but we're already straining Chief O'Brien's duty rooster. Captain, you're going to have to remind Starfleet that they scheduled this overhaul out here because the _Enterprise_ isn't just any starship. Everyone, including Chief O'Brien, understands that we're a working ship and this overhaul has to be done quickly--"

Jean-Luc raises a hand and gently ends Geordi's protests. "I will remind them of your reasons behind your timetable Mr. La Forge. Please, continue your work."

"Thank you, Sir" Geordi says as he relaxes, relief evident on his face.

This calm doesn't reach Janeway, who's still standing at attention near the chair on the left. Beverly wonders how severe Jean-Luc's reputation must be if he commands this much respect from a new first officer.

Janeway takes a moment, then begins her report. "Counselor ch'Sevran's transport vessel has been delayed at _Deep Space Three_, so he won't be joining us until after our mission along the Cardassian border."

"Will you be delaying the crew evaluations until he can join us, Number One?" Jean-Luc asks, and Beverly pays close attention. She's put Alyssa in for a well-earned promotion and she would rather it wasn't delayed.

"Commander Riker and Counselor Troi left detailed notes," Janeway begins, and her eyes drop to the deck. Her posture shifts and she's floundering a little. Beverly recognises it, as does Jean-Luc. It's not easy to do crew evaluations on a ship of the size of the _Enterprise_ when one has walked on board less than a week ago.

"I can assist Commander Janeway," Beverly volunteers, drawing a politely surprised look from Jean-Luc.

"I am also willing to assist," Data adds from where he stands next to Geordi, "however, I believe Doctor Crusher's emotional insight would be of more value, considering her relationship with the crew and the fact that she would be replacing the insight of Counselor Troi."

"My duties are fairly minimal while we're docked," Beverly reminds Jean-Luc as she turns to look up at him. He seems amused by the idea and she can see his agreement in the set of his jaw. "I see every member of the crew, admittedly on a different basis than Deanna, but I at least can help Commander Janeway put a personality on her files."

"I'd appreciate that, Doctor," Janeway interjects, relief evident in her tone and the brightening of her eyes. "Thank you."

"Well," Jean-Luc agrees, letting some of his amusement warm his voice. Beverly wonders if it's to reassure Janeway or himself that it's a good idea. "It seems you'll be ably assisted, Number One. I will inform Starfleet to expect our crew evaluations on schedule and remind them that our engineers are not capable of time travel."

"Thank you, sir," Geordi says again, this time with a smile and the meeting breaks up. Worf, Data and Geordi return to work on the refit at the rear engineering console and they draw Jean-Luc's attention away from Beverly and Janeway.

Janeway sinks into the chair so recently vacated by Will Riker and shares a small smile. "Nice save, Doctor."

"Emergency situations are my speciality," Beverly promises. She shifts her weight in the chair to avoid the stiffness threatening her back and contemplates the other woman. Remembering how awkward she was the first time she met Will, Beverly studies her for a moment. He was so young then, so was she in a way, and those six years feel like a lifetime ago.

"I'll keep that in mind," Janeway says, her smile brightening even further. "Seems like I just did crew evaluations on the _Billings_."

"Shouldn't have given yourself that commendation," Beverly teases her, curious to see how she'll take it. "If you'd stayed there, someone else would be stuck doing these."

Janeway's lips quirk and Beverly starts to think she'll like this new first officer. Will's difficult to replace; he is like a brother after the six years they served together.

Janeway's beautiful, and more petite than she expected. Her auburn hair seems too constrained up in a bun, but Beverly knows the pressures on women in the command track. Her blue eyes are quick and lively but she has dark circles under them. It must be the strain of her new position. Beverly has a hard time sleeping on new ships; it's possible Janeway suffers from the same problem. She's glad she'll get a chance to get to know her.

"Don't know what I was thinking," Janeway retorts. "Next time I'll know better and give myself a nice mediocre review." Even though her words are cheerful, Janeway's attention seems elsewhere. They stare at each other for a moment, then Janeway's smile vanishes. "I'm sorry about your grandmother."

"Thank you," Beverly says politely. Not knowing what to say must explain Janeway's nervousness. "Jean-Luc," she corrects herself, "the captain and I collected her belongings this afternoon." That was a poignant, though strange experience. She thought her grandmother always travelled with the Howard candle and her journal. Perhaps Felisa had forgotten them on her way to the station? Beverly supposes she'll find out when she makes time to get there. She's never been good at that.

Janeway leans closer, letting the conversation become personal. "I heard she was from Caldos?"

"That's right," Beverly says, smiling as she remembers the beautiful planet. "She had no desire to live on Earth, much too civilised and soft for her taste, but Caldos both reminded her of her ancestors and gave her a place to feel needed. She had a pioneer's spirit and Caldos was just wild enough to be home."

Janeway nods her head but her hands are fidgeting with her sleeve. It's a gesture Beverly knows all too well but it seems out of place with the rest of Janeway's behaviour. "I have something I need to do," she says and Beverly's mind starts wondering about the secrecy. "Doctor Picard, I don't suppose I could meet you in Ten Forward, perhaps in an hour? The sooner we start these crew evaluations, the sooner we'll be free of them."

"I'll see you there," Beverly replies, watching Janeway get to her feet. "And please, Beverly is fine."

"Beverly," Janeway tries, and then smiles. The gesture creeps into her eyes and makes the exhaustion marring her face vanish. "Only if you call me Kathryn."


	2. Within

_Author's Note: I experimented with present tense last chapter and I didn't like it. This chapter is back in past and I'll redo the first when I have time. I apologise for any confusion! Thanks for reading and for the lovely reviews.

* * *

_

Shifting in her chair, Beverly tucked her feet awkwardly beneath her. Kathryn's expression twisted, as if she was trying not to smile. She'd been a good sport, but Beverly knew her fidgeting was amusing. They've been holed up in a corner of Ten Forward, with Beverly on the long bench against the wall so she can shift her feet around. Sitting still has never been easy for her, and both now and the last time she was pregnant it has become profoundly more difficult. First her hip was sore, then her knee, and now it was the lower left side of her ribs.

"Mock all you want," Beverly teased as she looked at her with a mix of concern and amusement. "Just don't come to me for sympathy if you decide to have a baby," she finished as the other woman passed her a new cup of tea.

"Not any time soon," Kathryn sighed, sinking into her chair with an entire pot of coffee in front of her on the clear glass table. Lifting her cup with both hands, she took a deep whiff of the fragrant steam before smiling. "Mixing something like that with a new assignment would take a lot more than coffee to get me through."

"It doesn't taste the same when you replicate it without the caffeine either," Beverly pointed out while scrolling through the last few names on the list. So far, they've managed to find three new supervisors in engineering, two promotions in stellar cartography and two deputies in security. "The first bridge position is the night duty officer at ops."

Kathryn's padd chirps as she tapped it. "I see Ensigns Sito and Lavelle."

The first name sounded familiar. "I know Ensign Sito," Beverly volunteered, wracking her brain for the memory. Running the name through her thoughts until she remembers the connection, she sets down her cup hard on the glass table. "She was on my son's flight team in the academy. I think they were friends. She made sure to say hello to me when she came on board."

"Was your son on the flight team before or after the graduation accident?" Kathryn asked politely, eyes still on her padd.

The thought turned Beverly's stomach for a moment, even two years later. She shook it off, but it takes a moment longer than she'd like. Knowing Wesley had been hurt while she was so far away gutted her and that fear was still with her. "One of his friends was killed. Set him back an entire year at the Academy," she answered quietly. If it hadn't been for Jean-Luc, Wesley might have washed out. He was such a comfort to her when Wesley had trouble adjusting to his punishment.

"Now that I think about it, I'm surprised she spoke to me at all. I thought his friends would have abandoned him, or that it would be hard for her to talk to me, knowing I was his mother," she paused, setting down the padd. "He was the one who stood up, eventually," Beverly continued, looking down at the table before she looked back at Kathryn. "The four cadets decided to keep it a secret and would have let it remain so if thy hadn't been caught by the _Enterprise's_ investigation. I love my son, and I was proud of him when he finally did the right thing, but it was immensely difficult for him."

Kathryn's expression softens further. She reaches up and scratches the back of her neck. "I remember what the Academy was like, how image was everything."

"Jean-Luc convinced him," She didn't add how angry and disappointed she was behind closed doors when she found out Wesley hadn't intended to come forward, or that Jean-Luc forced his hand. Beverly hoped the other woman would relax as they got to know each other but Kathryn still seemed nervous. Setting down her cup, she rubbed the stitch in her side. "He still hasn't told me exactly what he said, but he got through to Wesley. I'm not sure anyone else could have."

Kathryn poured herself more coffee. "He's not entirely what he's purported to be," she admitted over her cup. "Jean-Luc Picard certainly has a reputation around the fleet but of course, as it always is, the wrong parts of his character seem to get all the credit." Her smile was still genuine but her fingers tapped nervously along the lip of her mug. She sat too erect in her chair, as if she's ready to leave it at any moment.

"Do you want to take a break?" Beverly asked, setting down her padd. Kathryn didn't seem ready to admit what was bothering her and though Beverly's curiosity was piqued, she didn't think she'll get anything out of the first officer today. "We've made a dent and if we stop for now I might just be able to catch him for dinner."

"Thank you," Kathryn said with a clearly relieved nod. "Tomorrow then?" she asked, already half out of her chair. "I'm sorry, I have a subspace call," she explained weakly before she leaves the table.

"Of course," Beverly answered to her back. Surprised by the speed with which Kathryn left Ten Forward, she turned her wedding ring on her finger thoughtfully before tapping her commbadge. "Crusher-" she stopped, smiling a little at herself. "Doctor Picard to Captain Picard."

* * *

"Beverly," he said warmly, setting down his padd and settling back in his chair. "Have you promoted the entire ship or just decided to promote yourself in a bloodless coup and take over?" he teased, watching her stand in the doorway.

"I'd still be Captain Picard," she pointed out in return. "Starfleet might not even notice for awhile. You know how rarely we get back to Earth. Ready for dinner?" she asked.

Just seeing her brightened up his ready room. "Of course," he said, shutting down his work and organising the padds on his desk. "How do you feel about trying to the Trill restaurant on the Promenade? We'll be leaving Deep Space 9 soon and I'd like to be able to say I surveyed most of the food while we were here."

"Is that one supposed to be seafoodl?"

"I believe so," he answered, nodding to Worf and Data as they strolled through the bridge.

"There's a cephalopod with glowing tentacles that's purported to be a rare delicacy," she suggested, and he smiled in amusement. Trust her to find the strangest thing on the menu and want to try it.

"You have the bridge, Mr. Data," Jean-Luc said, inclining his head towards the android as he took his wife's arm.

"It is slightly rubbery when overdone, Sir," Worf said as he looked up from tactical. "Ask for the uunlabask rare and I believe you will enjoy it better."

"Thank you for the suggestion, Lieutenant. Goodnight," Jean-Luc said, openly grinning.

Beverly nudged his side with her elbow as the turbolift doors shut them in. "Is Worf a secret gourmet?"

Adjusting his uniform jacket, Jean-Luc stole the moment of privacy in the turbolift and kisses her cheek. "He's always been a man of hidden talents." Beverly redirected the kiss into something more passionate and she sighed happily when their lips parted.

"Missed you."

"Evaluations were that bad?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"I don't have to be doing something terrible to miss you," she reminded him, kissing his cheek once more before the turbolift doors open and put them back under the scrutiny of the crew. "Although, that doesn't mean they were pleasant, or that you don't owe me for stepping up and easing the transition of your new first officer."

"Of course," he droned, still amused. Her teasing was always appreciated. Beverly reminded him to enjoy his work, and his life. Both of which couldn't be better, he mused, as they walk into the darker corridors of Deep Space 9. Even with the bittersweetness of Felisa's death hanging over them, marriage is more incredible than he imagined.

Beverly's fingers toyed with his sleeve before she decided to voice what she was thinking. "Do you know much about her?"

"I've read her file, talked at length with Captain El-Ibim over subspace," he began, keeping his voice low as he recounted what he remembers. "Janeway's a good officer, started in the sciences and switched later to command. Fine record, with several commendations and a very thoughtful letter by Admiral Paris. She tends to keep to herself, especially it appears after she lost her father and her fiancé in the same tragic accident involving an experimental ship."

Beverly's eyes soften with sympathy. "She hasn't mentioned that."

He squeezed her hand. "We rarely begin our friendships talking about our personal tragedies." Beverly still appeared to be concerned, and she was silent for some time as they walk to the restaurant.

"Something amiss?" he asked gently, sitting down across from her and waiting for her to examine the menu.

"No, no," she promised him, idly toying with his fingers with her cool ones. "She was anxious about something and I just can't put my finger on it. Some days I'd give anything to have Lwaxana's abilities."

Jean-Luc shook his napkin across his lap and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That would certainly be interesting." They released their joined hands as bread arrived in a basket with bright purple fruit.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she assured him, shaking it out of her mind. "What kind of trouble would you get in if I knew your thoughts?"

"No more than usual," he said mildly. She nudged his leg with hers under the table and he broke into a smile. "Certainly nothing too risqué, I assure you."

Beverly tore the bread in her hand before putting a piece of it into her mouth. "Too bad."

* * *

She didn't have to think much. The words just seemed to flow when she started writing. She didn't mean to hurt him, and she was sorry for leading him on. She just couldn't be with him. Not while she was on the _Enterprise_ and Mark was on Earth. She needed space and the freedom of the stars. She couldn't ask him to leave his life so she will wish him well.

Kathryn sent the message without a second thought. She ended her years with Mark and broke off the engagement with the press of a button. Pulling the ring from her finger, she set it neatly in a small shipping container. It should only take a few weeks to reach him. Shutting the box, she put Mark out of her mind and he's forgotten nearly when the click of the lid fades.

Creeping to the bed, she lit the candle and waited, running her hands anxiously over her legs and imagining they were Ronin's hands. His would bring more pleasure; hers just seem hollow. She was so empty without him, so wanting. Undoing the clip in her hair, she slowly pulled it down. Kathryn shook her hair loose, running her hands through so it fell on her shoulders.

Pulling down the zipper of her jacket, she peeled it off her arms. The grey tank top beneath is thin but it felt too rough, like it was tearing at her skin. She kicked off her boots and pulled her trousers down, tossing them into the corner. She doesn't need everything off for him to touch her, but she wanted to be free. She was so confined on this ship.

She felt Ronin before he touched her. He set the air abuzz with his presence and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I missed you," he murmured, running his hands down her arms. "You were gone so long."

"I'm sorry," she whispered back, sighing as he runs his hands across her hips. He can reach through her, touching her inside and taking her to the brink of orgasm before she even has time to grow wet. It's an entirely different kind of sex. Ronin can make her feel things that should be impossible; at least, they always have been before. "I have to do my job or they'll be suspicious."

She backed towards the bed, falling into it when her legs hit. Ronin pushed her back further, running tendrils of sensation like fingers down her stomach. Her clothing means nothing to him and she can already feel him reaching up and into her. She gasped, shuddering in pleasure. Ronin slipped along her thighs, caressing her legs before he reached back inside.

She choked, then moaned at his touch. The trembling, buzzing in her head started to build towards orgasm, but he rushed it, pouring heat and sensation into her body so that Kathryn can only writhe in ecstasy.

Then she was cold, empty, lost and the change is so brutal that it feels like drowning in ice water. Her chest ached and her body feels abandoned of all life.

"You don't want me to leave you, do you?" he asked, voice reverberating through her head as if he inside her mind.

"No," she begged, sitting up in the empty room. "Please, please don't."

He crept over her, warming her again from the pit of her stomach down to her knees. It' was such a relief that there were tears in her eyes. "You want to be one, don't you? Together, always?"

Kathryn nodded, biting her lip and arching her back as he filled her with phantom friction. "I want to be with you."

"I love you, Kathryn," he whispered into her mind. "Do you love me?"

"I love you," she repeats, not caring how desperate she sounds. As long as he keeps touching her, as long as he's with her, she still feels alive.

"Then we'll be one," he promised. For a moment, in the back of her mind, Kathryn thought about Mark and Justin; how once love was something she shared. Now love consumed her, eating her alive and burning as brightly as the stolen candle on the bedside table.

* * *

Amused that she can tell him by the sound of his feet, Beverly looked up from her work and grinned. "Looking for me, Captain?"

"Ensign Ogawa told me you were in your office," he said calmly. He probably didn't need to ask, but he makes an effort to talk to the crew. She loved that about him.

"She'll be Lieutenant Ogawa next week," she said, offering him a chair with a wave of her hand. Beverly scrolled down through Ensign Ressic's blood panel and then saved the file. "She's been nothing but exemplary since she came on board."

"Then it's a promotion well earned," he said, skipping the chair and balancing himself on the desk instead. Jean-Luc folded his hands on his legs, but he's barely sitting and it was obvious something was on his mind.

"Feeling all right?" she teased, raising an eyebrow as she leans back in her chair. The movement sends a creaking through her lower back and Beverly hid the wince. Shifting again so her feet rest on the chair he's not using, she waited for him to respond.

"I can assure you, I'm fine." He eyed her for a moment, dropping his attention to her rounded belly. "And the little one?"

Her smile returned as she twisted her hips to get the kink out of her spine. "Quiet today."

His lips twisted upward into a smile. "Must have tired herself out last night."

"I should hope so. She's getting to be quite the little troublemaker." Beverly lifed her head to make sure no one was outside her office and then waved Jean-Luc over. "Come here."

He circled the desk and let her pull him down to kiss her. It was a little public for them, but she loved having the chance to be close enough to smell him.

"You didn't come down here just to ask me how my day was going, did you?" she asked, keeping her hand on his arm.

Jean-Luc shifted so that he has her hand in his and sighed. There was something heavy on his shoulders and he came down to be reassured. He'd find the words, and until he did she waited patiently for him to put his thoughts together.

"I have to ask a young woman to go on a very dangerous mission," he explained, looking down at her hand instead of up into her eyes. "There is a very good chance she could be killed, or tortured, and what I'm asking her to do is vital to the Federation. We can't afford a war with Cardassia. Every piece of information we can gather brings us that much closer to peace." He looked up at her, the lines on his face tight with concern. "I'm going to ask her to risk her life for that."

Beverly gripped his hand, reminding him that his strength wasn't all he could count on. "Jean-Luc, she's a Starfleet officer," she reminded him. "She took an oath. We all did. Everyone on this ship is aware of that our duty could demand our lives at any moment." She follows his eyes down to her belly and reaches up to touch his chin. "We wouldn't be here if we didn't believe in what we are doing."

Jean-Luc nodded sagely, touched by her words. "I much prefer to make living heros, if I have the choice."

"It may be up to her," Beverly said gently. "Does she have a good head on her shoulders? Do you trust her to make the right decisions once she's out there?"

He took in her questions and his hand moved to her shoulder. The weight of it reminded her how difficult his position was. She wasn't the only one who had to weigh one life against the many, but Beverly was comforted that he understood. she was here to support him.

"I don't like what I'm going to have to do to find out," he shared, rubbing her shoulder before he stands back up. With a sharp tug of his jacket, he was past his vulnerability. "See you for dinner?"

"1900," she answered, and then corrected herself. "Maybe 1930? Our guest generated some extra paperwork that I can't ask anyone else to do." She can't refer to the Cardassian spy by name, but Jean-Luc knows who she's talking about. "I'm sure she'll pass your test, Jean-Luc."

"I'm afraid of what award I'm giving her if she does," he sighed again, keeping his eyes on her face. "I'll see you tonight, Beverly."

"Get back up to the bridge," she teased him as she reopened her work. "You never know where Data and Kathryn might take us if you're not there."

"Perish the thought," he deadpaned on his way out of sickbay.

Beverly finished Ensign Ressic's blood panel and moved on to Lieutenant Thorpe's third ultrasound. It was a bizarre and devious sort of liver parasite; she'd been making sure it won't recur, again, when she heard someone else. Alyssa was in the doorway, smiling brightly, though she was making a small effort to hide it.

"Yes?" Beverly asked.

"I just wanted to report that our-" she paused, still nervous with the secrecy, "guest's vitals are improving, and nearly back to normal, Doctor."

"Excellent." Beverly allowed herself the small smile of victory. "Thank you," she added before she dropped her eyes back to the scan. Was that a dark spot near the kidney? Could the parasite have migrated? A moment later, she realised Alyssa was still standing in front of her desk, smiling.

"Something else?" she asked, slightly surprised.

"It's not my place," Alyssa tried to dodge the question.

"Go ahead," Beverly waited for her, now curious.

Her nurse fidgeted for a moment, then finally blurted out. "I'm happy for you."

"Oh?"

"You and the captain," Alyssa continues, her words halting over each other. "You just seem so… content with each other. He comes down to see you and he has this smile when he leaves. I know he's the captain and he has to be, well, the captain, but it's just so…" she trailed off, blushing a little.

"Charming? Sweet?" Beverly finishes for her. "He may be captain of the _Enterprise_, but I can assure you, being captain doesn't mean he's any less my husband. It's a good thing," she promised, shaking her finger towards Alyssa for emphasis. "You'll see, someday."

"I hope you're right, Doctor," Alyssa agreed, keeping her smile as she leaves. Beverly couldn't help hoping things will work out for her and Andrew. Alyssa deserved to be happy. She also couldn't help being touched that her nurse paid attention to Jean-Luc's comings and goings. She might need to tease him about that over supper.

* * *

"Jean-Luc?"

When he finally looks up, he can tell by Beverly's face that she's said his name more than a few times to get his attention. "I'm sorry," he said, bringing his thoughts back to her and what she might be saying.

"I've just received a communiqué from Deep Space 9," she said, letting go of her frustration with a sigh. "Constable Odo is certain my grandmother's candle wasn't in her room. He was very thorough. Ned Quint, who's still going through her things on Caldos, said he can't find it either. In fact, he was sure she took it with her."

She set the padd down on his desk and paced a few steps in front of it. The untied sash of her purple robe swung back and forth with her steps. "I just don't see how it could disappear. It's hundreds of years old, but it's not worth anything to anyone but me. Surely no one would take it? We were very careful when we packed up her quarters." She shook her head, frustration momentarily dredging up her grief again.

"I'm sure it didn't walk away on its own," he promised, forcing himself away from the mission briefing he's read and reread far too many times. "We'll find it."

"It's just a candle," Beverly said, trying to dismiss it, but her chin trembled. Leaving his desk, he took her into his arms and hugged her tightly. Her head rested against his shoulder and he could smell the sweetness of her hair.

"It was your grandmother's," he said, holding her a little tighter. "I think we'll find it. It made it this far, why would it disappear now?"

"Maybe it doesn't like the _Enterprise_," she teased him, blinking the start of tears away before she kisses him. "What were you reading?"

He returned the kiss, remaining with her lips for a long moment. "Mission briefing," he explained, starting to remove his jacket on the way to the bedroom.

She followed him, leaning in the doorway to watch him undress. "Tomorrow's briefing?" Beverly didn't give him time to respond while he took off his trousers and tossed them and his uniform jacket away into the laundry chute. "Our undercover operative knows what she's doing. She'll be prepared by Worf and Dal, and if anyone knows how to survive in Cardassian space, it would be someone who already has. She'll have every possible chance we can give her."

He holds his robe against his chest for a moment before he said what he'd been thinking. "I look at her and I think- I keep thinking- she's Wesley's age."

"I know," her voice is soft. Beverly sinks down to the edge of the bed and smiles sadly at him. "Wesley will be an ensign next year. He'll be in her place, accepting viciously dangerous missions from his commanding officer."

She toyed with the sash of her robe, running it between her fingers. "That won't make it any easier, but I can understand why he made his choice. We made the same one, didn't we?"

Shrugging his shoulders into the soft silk of his robe, Jean-Luc crouched down in front of her, resting his hand on her knee. "You have every right to be proud of Wesley," he reminds her. "He's a very fine young man, with a good head on his shoulders. He'll be a truly excellent officer someday."

She kissed his forehead, then lifted his chin to kiss his lips. "I love you," she whispered as the warmth of her mouth pulled away.

"I love you, Beverly," he replied, getting up to brush his teeth. Jean-Luc lowered his hands to help her up and she followed him into the bathroom.

"Kathryn and I had a strange conversation today," she said, changing the subject while the tooth cleaner whirred softly in her hand. Standing beside him at the sink, Beverly smiled at him secretively. "Apparently, she's broken off her relationship with her fiancé."

He was continually amused and surprised by her ability to keep up with all the gossip on board. He can barely remember who's dating whom and where all their husbands and wives live if it wasn't on the ship. He ran his own tooth cleaner through his mouth and waited for her to finish.

"They've been together for years," she told him, pausing to clean her teeth. "When we talked at our wedding party, she called him her best friend.

Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows slightly.

She rinsed her mouth, spat and then raised her head. "To break something like that off so quickly..." she said. "I can't imagine what would end that kind of relationship." She paused, tooth cleaner hanging over the sink. "I've known you since I was at the Academy. All those breakfasts together, and the plays, and the formal dinners-"

He interrupted her with a finger across her lips. "You're the only one who can make me look like a serviceable dancer."

"That's what it was," she teased back, patting her mouth try with a towel. "If I'd have known that, I never would have bothered getting pregnant and forcing you to marry me."

He chuckled at that, taking the towel from her and smirking. "Suppose I fell for that completely, didn't I?"

"You're a terrible poker player," Beverly finished, stripping off her robe and crawling slowly into bed. "It's that twitch in your jaw. Dead giveaway."

He leaved his robe on the chair by the bed and crawls in next to her. Her body had already started to warm the blankets and she curls against him when he's settled.

"Must be dreadful for her," she yawned, shifting her head on his chest. "Letting go of all that history, and Kathryn didn't even seem upset. I think she's still in shock."

He ran his hand over her shoulder and made a mental note to speak with his Number One. "Not everyone's ready for a life in space."

"I'll bet Mark-" she yawned again, "-hasn't seen the _Enterprise_."

"If he didn't want to live on it, most definitely not," Jean-Luc answered with naked pride. "Thank you."

Beverly shifted her weight again and the blankets whispered around her. "For what?"

"Making such an effort to befriend her," he said, kissing her forehead. "It's the first major change we've had in the command crew since Tasha died and it's wonderful that it's gone so smoothly."

"We've only just left the station," she reminded him as she slipped closer to his chest. "We've barely been in a space a few days. You're counting your chickens, Jean-Luc." She started to smile but yawned instead. His hand found its way to her belly and rested there, content on the firm flesh beneath. Jean-Luc had never considered himself an overly emotional man, but impending fatherhood was already starting to make his decisions more poignant. Talking to Ensign Sito that afternoon, dressing her down to see if she was ready for the mission he must send her on, he saw his daughter in her.

He's been in her shoes, and he could empathise with how she felt. Jean-Luc was not without his own share of mistakes and he knew how hard it is to come back from one. Maybe he'll tell her about the Stargazer, or the time he was stabbed through the heart for his foolishness. Youth was not something he escaped without a few bruises on his record.

What did she need to hear? Will she stand up to him for being so unfair? Did she have the spirit to survive the mission he was sending her on?

He sighed and lifts his eyes to Beverly's face. She's already asleep, breathing slowly and evenly. Jean-Luc's never shared a bed with anyone for this long, and it's odd how he can't imagine now going back to sleeping alone. Even the nights when she was late or they're on opposing shifts it was hard to fall asleep without her. She might apologise for waking him when she cept in, but he loves it. Falling asleep again, with her, was how it should be.

Ensign Sito, the Cardassians, and the hundred other things in his mind fell away. Beverly's eyelashes made soft shadows against her face. Her lips were relaxed and still; he glided his hand up to run a fingertip across her chin. The feathery motion made her shift slightly but she remained asleep. He let his eyes close and the memory of her face filled his dreams.

* * *

"Is eye colour considered to be a desirable trait?" Data asked, watching her enter the data from the last biometric sweep. He hovered nearby, waiting for her to ask him to do something. It was his way of being polite and if he were anyone else, it would be frustrating. Data, however, wouldn't even notice she was upset, so she relaxed and lets him hover.

Beverly rubbed the side of her belly and wonders what the rest of his question will be. "It depends on the culture," she answered neutrally. "And the species, of course."

"Humans," he offered pertly. "In humans are certain eye colours considered more valuable than others?"

She thought about his question for a while, running history through her mind as she filled in the data into the sickbay computer. "Sometimes," Beverly said. "Some cultures prize dark eyes, or blue eyes, and everyone has personal preferences, but I can promise it hasn't been for a very long time since it was part of society. Eye colour is just a trait, like any other. Hair, skin, the shape of one's nose. What matters is what's inside Data."

Data considered that, tilting his head sharply as he added it to his observations of humanity. "So there would be no motivation for changing the colour of one's eyes other than personal preference."

Smirking a little, Beverly shifted her weight and waved him closer. The baby had been squirming within her today, nudging the walls of her womb like a fish trying to escape confinement. "Come distract my daughter so I can get my work done," she said, reaching for his hand.

"I do not know how I can distract your child," Data replied, eyes wide with interest. "I am, of course, most willing to do so."

His hand was warmer than the air, but not quite as warm as a human's. Beverly moved it along her belly and then nodded when she found the right place. "There, feel that? She's been at that all day."

Data cocked his head in the other direction, cataloguing the sensation. "Is it distracting you from your work?"

She raised an eyebrow, then smirked at him. "Would it distract you if something was moving around in your abdominal cavity?"

"I am capable of discerning and prioritising many different kinds of sensations by degree of importance," Data reminded her, but he kept his hand on her belly. He was careful, and the hand that can bend duranium was gentle through her uniform. "However, I believe it would require a four hu--" he paused to correct himself, "a number of my microprocessors devoted purely to the task. Which, for an android, is a notable concession of resources."

"Then yes, Data, she's distracting," Beverly finished, still smiling warmly. She rolled her neck, wishing she could work out the kinks herself. She would have to ask Jean-Luc to rub her neck after her shift. He had such wonderful hands. He complained about hers, that she pressed too hard, but for both of them having someone there at the end of the day was incredible.

"Your original request was that I distract her," Data reminded her. His eyes didn't leave her stomach. She wondered if he can detect the movement through her flesh with his advanced visual processors. "How do you suggest I accomplish that distraction?"

Crackling beneath her fingers, Beverly's muscles complained about the strain they've been under. She stopped digging her fingers into her neck and went back to work. Her padd was finally nearly empty of reports and she'll be able to move on to the next task. Her afternoon promised to be less administrative but more difficult. It was too bad she couldn't keep Data. He unfailingly made her smile.

"Talk to her," she urged him, beaming a little even as she rolled her eyes. "Tell her about the _Enterprise_, or your paintings. She won't understand, but her hearing's developed enough that she'll hear you."

"Unborn Picard offspring-" he started with a gentle formality and Beverly nearly dropped her padd with laughter.

"I fail to see your source of amusement," Data said, looking up with polite confusion. "You and the captain have not yet given her a name."

Beverly kept working, still laughing a little. "You're right. But Data, you could just start with hello."

"I thought it did not matter what I said?"

He had her there and Beverly thought quickly. "_She_ won't laugh at you," she promised gently. "I might."

"I promise I will not be offended by your amusement, Doctor," he assured her, always earnest. "Would it be less amusing to you if I took another form of address? We have not been introduced. I am simply conforming to social norms of address- being polite- and I do not wish to give offense. I understand that some expectant parents have nicknames for their unborn offspring. Have you and Captain Picard chosen a nickname? Perhaps that would be less amusing to you than my previous attempt at address."

Beverly paused, resting her padd against her stomach as she contemplated the idea. They didn't have one picked out. She alternated names in her head but none of them fit quite right and Jean-Luc had yet to offer an opinion. "All right, Data, there you have a point." It wasn't a nickname of her invention, and though she'd never admit it to Deanna, Beverly's always found it charming. "Little One, this is your uncle, Data."

"Ambassador Troi's nickname for Counselor Troi?" Data asked, and if he were human, Beverly would call the look on his face a smirk of amusement.

"You know," she said, turning back to the panel on the wall, "I've always thought it was sweet."

Data still hadn't stood up, and Beverly envied his android spinal column. Staying bent down as he was for more than a few seconds would make her back scream in agony.

"Counselor Troi did not seem to agree with you."

"No, she doesn't," Beverly mused, tapping the panel and approving the information from a few more biosweeps. "But, part of being a parent means that your children aren't always going to approve of you. It's easier to start that early."

Data nodded in understanding, and she wondered how much of her pregnancy has added to his memory banks about parenting. "Little One," he begins patiently. "I am your-" he paused, and Beverly could tell he's flattered by the title- "Uncle Data. I am a colleague of your mother and a subordinate of your father, not your biological uncle. You have one biological uncle, who resides in Labarre, France, on Earth. Your father was born there. Your mother was born in--"

Leaning down from her work, Beverly tapped his head. "Data, the captain and I will tell her about us. Why don't you tell her about you? Or Spot? Or Geordi--"

"Yes, Doctor," Data replies, switching tactics immediately. "Spot is my feline companion. She is a cat, which is a small quadropedial predator, native to Earth of the species 'felis catus'..."

* * *

Jean-Luc took the time to comm her personally. Perhaps on an ordinary day he would just let the message pass. He trusted his staff, but this afternoon, knowing what he has done, he wanted to hear her voice.

Beverly sounded remarkably cheerful, and he pictured her at her desk, smiling as she leaned over her work with a hand on their daughter. "Captain," she started, "to what to I owe the pleasure?"

"Ensign Sito is on her way down," he said, leaving off the preamble he's been planning in his head for the last few minutes. "She's accepted the mission."

"You knew she would," Beverly reminds him and her voice is softer, more gentle, and he loves her even more for knowing he needs her. "She was a pilot, Jean-Luc, and she grew up knowing exactly what kinds of horrors the Cardassians can inflict in a war."

He knew that. He'd seen the refugee camps and talked to Ensign Ro about how she grew up. Her experiences were so removed from his pleasant childhood on Earth that he can't begin to fathom the depths to which that would change the character of a person.

"You know what some Cardassians can do for their government," Beverly reminded him with a dark note in her voice. She healed his body, saw the haunted look in his eyes when he came home from that awful place. Beverly was the first one to make him feel human, and it took Deanna a long time to coax that humanity back out of the animal he'd become. "You're doing the right thing. She'll come back, she's a fighter."

"Thank you," he said, resting his head in his hands for a moment. "I assume you'll be home for dinner?"

"Lamb masala," she said, her voice rising back to its normal modulation. "You promised."

He smiled, quirking his lips slightly. Her newfound obsession with foods she's only eaten once or twice in her life has them flying through the replicator database. Sour Andorian desert etkurban one night and barbeque the next. "See you then."

The comm channel chirped off and he was alone in the quiet of his ready room. Space hung lazily outside his window, and he spent a few moments staring out at the stars millions of light years away. A single life was so small in the cosmos, yet as unique as each one of the uncountable stars he can see in the Demilitarized Zone and beyond into Cardassian space. The stars don't know the lines they've drawn upon them, and they will still burn long after this moment when the war that may or may not be coming has faded away.

They all make choices, and Sito Jaxa had made hers. He did no honour to her dwelling on the mysteries of the outcome. Jean-Luc sighed, letting the weight lift from his chest for the moment. He had other duties.

Tapping the comm on his desk, he bid, "Commander Janeway to my ready room please."

A moment later, the doors hissed open and she stood in front of him, politely at attention. "Captain."

Her auburn hair was down today, neatly clipped behind her neck, making her look less severe. He wondered if it was Beverly's suggestion. The hairstyles of his crew matter very little to him, as long as they remain regulation, but it's the kind of thing Beverly would discuss with a fellow officer. He suspected she missed Deanna as keenly as he did.

"At ease, Number One. Sit down, please." He points to the sofa and pauses at the replicator. "It is coffee, isn't it?"

"Black, thank you, Captain."

When he turned with coffee for her and a fresh cup of tea for himself, she was sitting. Her back was still as straight as a duranium support and her hands were folded carefully in her lap. Jean-Luc paused, studying her face for a moment. He could have sworn her eyes were blue when they met. Overlooking a detail, like the stunning shade of green of her eyes, nagged at him.

"We haven't had a chance to talk since we've been underway, and I thought I'd take a moment to hear how you're adjusting to the ship." He sat easily next to her, handing her the coffee and wondering why she gripped the mug so tightly.

"I'm fine, Captain," she said with a nod, eyes meeting his with a smile that seemed too forcefully cheerful. "Has my performance led you to think otherwise?"

"Not at all," Jean-Luc promised. In sharp contrast to her, his smile was genuine and he pours as much warmth into his voice as he can. "You have performed superbly since we left Deep Space 9. Continue as you have and I'll be truly spoiled to have you as a first officer."

She relaxed a touch, letting herself take a sip of her coffee. "I'm afraid you may be exaggerating, Captain."

"A refit is a tedious task and you handled it well, both at the station and once we were underway." Jean-Luc maintained eye contact, curious to see how she'll respond. "I am nothing short of pleased with your work so far."

"All right." Janeway considered that and looked down at her coffee before she looks back up. Her hands were tight again. "I'm an excellent tennis player if you ever feel like a game. I might be a little rusty, but I can probably hold my own."

Now they're starting to get somewhere and he lets his eyes widen. "Fencing and horseback riding are my own leisure pursuits, though, I have to admit my foil and saddle are definitely growing their own coat of dust."

"Busy man," she observed, still holding back. "The _Enterprise_ doesn't run itself, no matter how good your first officer might be."

Her hint of a joke amused him. Perhaps she was just nervous. Someday he was going to have to find out candidly just what his reputation is around the fleet. "I will admit to being 'married to my ship' in the past. I'm afraid it's my new wife who entices me away from the holodeck and the gym. Not that I mind," he finished. He was more open than he would usually be, but he needed to segue into the subject of relationships. Without a head counselor on board, Beverly's news that Janeway's engagement had ended has him concerned. Marriage might be new to him, but putting his career at the cost of his relationships was something he's all too familiar with.

"Doctor Picard is a lovely woman," Janeway replied, and something passed through her shockingly green eyes. For half a second, it's nearly a lustful leer. Taken aback, he let the comment hang until he was sure, but the look of wanting was unmistakable.

In another moment it was gone, and he took a sip of his tea to buy himself another few seconds to think. Was he too quick to assume Janeway's fiancé was male? No name was in her file, and her closest relative was listed as her mother in Indiana. It matters little what gender her former fiancé is, and though he agreed Beverly is incredibly beautiful, he's entirely unaccustomed to seeing that look on someone's face while they discuss his wife.

Now it was gone, and Janeway again seems almost fearful of him. One of her feet shifted on the carpet, as if she was preparing her way out. An attraction to Beverly, even an infatuation with her, wouldn't be enough to alter her behaviour. Janeway was a seasoned Starfleet officer. One who was nearly offered her own ship. The irritating sense that something was amiss rose in his thoughts and refused to be banished.

"Will that be all, Captain?" Janeway finished her coffee quickly and got to her feet.

Surprised, Jean-Luc set down his tea with a clink on the glass table and rose to face her. "Yes, thank you, Number One. I'll take your offer of a tennis match under advisement."

"I'll start researching fencing, Captain," she replied, all but fleeing to the door. "Good day."

Retrieving his tea from the table, he sat back down, more curious than he was before he summoned her. Commander Janeway was proving to be nearly as much of a mystery as she was an asset to his crew. Jean-Luc pondered her while he finished the rest of his strong black tea. The bitterness of the last sip was still on his tongue as he tried someone else on the comm. Someone who had been known to play a few rounds of tennis after she mysteriously took it up last year.

"Guinan, I think I may have the time for lunch in Ten Forward. Would you care to join me?"

* * *

"It's a bit of a mystery, Doc," Geordi said over the comm. "Would anaphasic energy pose any danger to the crew? It's a low level event, barely enough to influence any of the conduits. It's also extremely localised. The mystery is that--"

"Anaphasic energy requires an organic host to maintain molecular cohesion," Beverly interrupted, drumming her fingers on her desk. "Do you think something organic could be interacting with the conduits? Where was it again? You said deck eight, the bridge, Ten Forward?"

"Section twenty-three, near engineering, four of the turbolifts, also decks four, seventeen, eighteen and eleven. I have Data going through the movements of the crew, seeing if he can find anyone who's been to all of those locations in the last twelve hours," Geordi said, sighing. "Good thing he likes mysteries."

"Holmes is on the case," she joked, watching his data appear on her screen. The anaphasic energy appeared be contained but there were momentary spikes, most noticeably on deck eight. "Some of these spikes are high enough to cause injury to a human, even cardiac arrest. Is there any pattern to them? The biospectral frequency suggests that we're dealing with a singular host. There are no changes in presentation."

"So this could be in someone? A person?" Geordi asked, his voice rising in surprise. "Are they in danger? Would they know something was wrong?"

Beverly turned in her chair, opening another computer file and waiting for Starfleet Medical to connect over subspace. "Anaphasic possessions are fairly rare. The Interplanetary Medical Database lists four in the last two hundred years, three of which were easily resolved but the fourth..."

The file listed a man in the twenty-second century who was possessed by a sentient anaphasic entity who referred to himself as a ghost and purported to have memories of Alpha Centauri going back centuries. The attending physician at the time noted a relationship between the entity and the host, and that the host believed himself to be in love with the entity. Even when the entity was destroyed, the victim grieved for it.

"You still there, Doc?" Geordi's voice pulled her back to the present and Beverly turns her attention back to the comm.

"Sorry, Geordi," she offers ruefully. "You're going to have to tell Data he's looking for the case of the 'green ghost'. There's an obscure case of an anaphasic entity taking over a colonist on Alpha Centauri."

"We're pretty far out from Alpha Centauri," he replied.

"I'm sending the data down to you. Some of these energy spikes look almost identical," Beverly argued, wondering if the information will get through his skepticism. It was a long shot, but she's always loved those. There was something more interesting about a case that only comes around every few centuries.

The summons beeped on the wall behind her, calling her away from the mystery at hand.

"Geordi I have to go," Beverly said to her desk. "Let me know what Data finds out, would you?" she asked, shutting down the comm channel.

Leaving her office, Beverly met Alyssa on her nurse's way to report.

"Doctor," she began, "Commander Janeway's twisted her ankle in holodeck two. She said she was playing tennis with Guinan."

The favour Guinan did Beverly last year by keeping her in Starfleet when she was about to leave in disgrace was a happy secret between them and still made her smile. Guinan had taken up tennis after that, because it was "a shame to waste a good racket."

"I didn't know Kathryn played," Beverly said, taking the medical kit from the bench by the door.

"She sounded a little embarrassed," Alyssa offered, taking Beverly's lab coat from her. "Apparently it's been quite awhile since she had anyone to play with. She said she might have gotten a little to competitive."

Shaking her head, Beverly walked to the door. "Don't they all..."

* * *

Though the _Enterprise_ had a permanent racquetball court, a tennis court was too large and Beverly headed for the holodeck. She was slightly surprised when the computer let her in to the sunny, computer generated spring day and Guinan wasn't on the court. Kathryn was easy to spot, seated on the ground in her tennis whites, fingers dug into the grass.

She looked up when Beverly enters. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I completely believed Guinan when she said she wanted me to go easy on her."

Beverly knelt down next to her, slowly getting down to the grass. The extra weight of her pregnancy made it a little harder, but the grass was soft and warm beneath her.

"She said she'd only been playing a year," Kathryn complained, shaking her head in disbelief. Inhaling sharply when Beverly touched off her shoe, Kathryn's fingers went white as she gripped the grass. "I've really done it, haven't I?"

"Well," Beverly sighed melodramatically as she looked up at the first officer, "it's official. You've been on board less than a week and you already need me to put you back together." She eased off the shoe. Tugging off Kathryn's sock drew another sharp gasp of pain. The ankle was already swollen and the angry tissues were a deep shade of red. Beverly held it gently, listening to Kathryn's breathing as she tests her range of motion. Anything more than a few degrees of movement drew a hiss of pain and any pressure on the joint made her whimper.

"I can do it, of course," Beverly added, lightly rebuking her. "But, you'll owe me one." Turning to the side, she opened the medkit and took out her tricorder. None of the bones were broken and she looked up from the display to tell her the good news.

Her eyes were bright green. The same green of Beverly's grandmother's. She almost stumbled on her words as she set down the tricorder. Surely it was just a coincidence that she's been thinking of her grandmother, but Beverly distinctly remembered Kathryn having blue eyes. Kathryn's grateful smile was genuine but there's something in her eyes that makes Beverly pause.

"Something wrong?" Kathryn asked, still smiling. Her voice has shifted and the pain was entirely gone, though Beverly has done nothing to treat it. "You'll be able to fix it, won't you?"

"Of course," Beverly said, forcing herself not to drop Kathryn's foot. "Of course I can, not to worry. You're going to be fine." Her stomach tightened suddenly and she couldn't blame the baby for her discomfort. At Kathryn's side, the tricorder obediently finishes its scan. Near the bottom, beneath normal life sign readings, was an unusual energy signature. Beverly wouldn't recognise the amplitude normally, but she's just been looking at the files from Alpha Centauri.

Something crackled in her hands and Beverly jumped. Her palms stung for a moment and then began to itch.

"What's the matter, Beverly?" Kathryn asked, but it wasn't not her voice. Beverly can't explain it, but she wasn't the woman she knows. "Incompatibility is such a shame, isn't it?" she continued, staring at Beverly's hands. A greenish rash, identical to the one Jean-Luc discovered on her skin on the way to their honeymoon, was creeping up Beverly's wrists.

"It's too bad," Kathryn continued, tilting her head thoughtfully. "If your engineer had been a little less careful. If you were less curious...You and I, we could have been so happy together. I could have made you so happy."

She reached for Beverly's face, almost caressing her but carefully keeping her hand above her skin. "I thought it would be you," she murmured, sounding like she knew Beverly far more intimately. "I watched you grow from a young woman, listened to your letters home from space. You only get more beautiful as you age."

"I've just met you, Kathryn," Beverly reminded her. Reaching for the woman inside might bring her back. Whatever was talking now, it was not someone she knew. It was something else entity and there was no doubt in Beverly's mind that it was evil. "We met the night before my wedding."

"Oh, we met long before that," Kathryn's voice dropped even lower and she sounded almost male, and possessive. "Long before," the entity promised. "But you," frustration seeped into its tone, "you had to make yourself incompatible." The entity dragged Kathryn's fingers across Beverly's neck and the itching flashed through her skin immediately.

Kathryn's -- or the entity's, Beverly couldn't be sure who's more in control -- eyes drop to the swell of her belly. "If Felisa had just lived a little bit longer," the entity sighs and seems almost mournful. "If she was out of your belly, we could have been together. We would have been happy. You and I, the women in your family, we're so happy together."

The dark muzzle of a phaser in Guinan's hand appeared just to the left of Kathryn's cheek. She didn't know Guinan was even in the holodeck, but she was immensely grateful. Following Guinan's arm, Beverly swallowed. She had to keep the entity's attention, and that didn't seem difficult given the entity's obsession. The way the entity looked at her belly clamped a frigid hand around her heart.

"You and I aren't compatible because I'm pregnant?" she realised, rocking back to get her feet on the ground.

Kathryn stood up off the ground, standing on her bad ankle without a trace of pain. She leered down at her and Guinan silently circled her to stay behind with the phaser. "Two lives in one body, two energies make the merging impossible...then there's him-" the sneer on Kathryn's face is directed entirely at Jean-Luc. "And he nearly saw me."

"He's very perceptive," Beverly said, bringing back the entity's frustration. If it was angry, it would be distracted. Guinan must have called security. Anaphasic energy can easily travel through conduits. If the entity left Kathryn, it could be anywhere on the ship in moments and she had to hold it here before it goes after anyone else; before it tried for Jean-Luc.

"He can't love you as I can," the entity promised, pleading now as it looked down at Beverly through Kathryn's eyes. "I can make you happy, as I've made Kathryn happy, like I made your grandmother happy, and your great-grandmother, and her mother, and all the women in your family. I could make her happy too," it said, dropping its gaze back to the swell of her stomach and the child within in a way that turned Beverly's stomach in disgust.

"When she's grown, when you're gone, I'll be with her," the entity imagined aloud, nearly sighing in anticipation. "It's only this growth, two lives in one body, that causes the discord. Once she's born, I could be with you." Kathryn's hands extended downward, pleading to touch her. "We could be together-"

"No," Beverly cut it off forcefully. Anger rose in her chest and despite the calmer parts of her brain telling her to be quiet, she couldn't let it think that way about her and most certainly not her daughter. Hauling herself up to her feet, she stared the entity down. "I have nothing to share with you, and neither will my daughter. Not now, not ever, will you feed on her. God only knows how many centuries you've been feeding on my family! You're a parasite. You don't love..."

Kathryn's delicate features contort with rage. Anaphasic energy, the same brilliant shade of green of Kathryn's eyes, arcs outward and makes an aura around her body.

"You will be alone," Beverly finishes, holding the entity's gaze just long enough for the flood of gold uniforms, led by Data, to rush into holodeck's simulated tennis court.

The entity looked towards them for a moment, frantic, before it fixed on her. "I will be with you," it promised. Green light, almost like a mist, snaked out of Kathryn's body like grasping tentacles and reached for her. Instinctively Beverly ducks, barely seeing the golden-white blur of Data grab her and encircle her like a shield, as phaser fire lances out. As she peered around Data's shoulder, Guinan fired, singeing the green mist into a puff of smoke.

The blast died off and there was a single gasp of pain before Kathryn's body tumbles to the grass. Beverly crawled towards her but Data held her back protectively. Kathryn lay on the grass court, curled in a ball with her hand on her ankle. Data ran a quick scan as Beverly watched Kathryn's wide and terrified eyes fade back to blue.

"Good work," Guinan offered, still holding the phaser leveled at Kathryn's chest.

"She is free of the entity," Data promised as he released his iron grip on Beverly.

Crouching over the downed woman and crossing her legs beneath her, she reached for the medkit. "How did you know?" she demanded, still trying to get her heart to slow.

"Guinan contacted me," Data explained with a trace of apology. "She believed Commander Janeway had been compromised in some fashion. I was aware of Geordi's research and Commander Janeway's movements coincided with the spikes of anaphasic energy." He turned his head to Guinan. "Your reflexes are most excellent."

"Where did you come from?" Beverly demanded, looking up from her tricroder. "I was convinced we were alone. Not that I'm ungrateful, of course."

Guinan nodded her head once, smiling serenly. "I've been known to do a little holodeck programming. Whatever he was, he was much more interested in you coming than he was in where I went."

Beverly absorbed this, trying to calm herself with the thought that she had never been alone with the entity, whatever he'd been.

Data titled his head up. "Computer, end program." The grass beneath them and the sound of faraway birds faded with the warmth of the sun. The simple black and gold lines replaced the tennis court and the blue sky.

"I'm sorry," Kathryn muttered, reaching for Beverly's wrist and squeezing it tightly. "I'm so sorry." There were tears in her eyes, and Beverly felt a stab of sympathy. She'd been the victimised the worst by the entity.

This time there was no crackling burst of energy and Beverly smiled gently as she brushes a hand across Kathryn's forehead. "It wasn't you," she assures her. "You aren't responsible for any of it." She pauses, and then lets herself really smile. "Except perhaps this ankle," she teases as she checks it again. "Which you've really gone and made a mess of now."

"I thought I might have," Kathryn replied, eyebrows knitting together in pain as Data helped her back up. She held her foot up awkwardly, even moving her knee made her ankle scream in pain.

Guinan quickly took her weight, wrapping a strong arm around her back. "Did the entity trip you up or did I just get lucky with that backhand?"

Kathryn blinked, still fighting tears. "Tripping was all me, I'm afraid."

"I'm getting better than I thought," Guinan said cheerfully, and Kathryn had to smile.

"You really are."

Data offered a pale hand and Beverly gratefully accepted his assistance getting to her feet. Kathryn watched her stand and a shiver of fear ran through her. The way Ronin had thought about the unborn baby Beverly carried almost made her nauseated. She'd let him onto the ship. She'd lied for him to the captain, to Mark...

"Thank you, Data," Beverly said, patting his shoulder. "You solved the mystery of the 'green ghost' with impeccable timing."

"I realised I was following the motions of Commander Janeway when I checked the replicator records," Data explained. "There was a surge of anaphasic energy in the food replicators each time she ordered coffee."

"As I do," Kathryn had to admit, smiling a little, even with tears still stinging her eyes. "At least eight times a day."

"We might need to have a talk about that," Beverly threatened, finishing her scan of Kathryn's ankle. "Now you've done it," she announced, mockglaring at Kathryn over the tricorder. "Fully dislocated."

"Thought so," Kathryn said, inhaling sharply when she tried to take a step. "Didn't seem to bother Ronin any, but now that he's gone..."

"Ronin?" Beverly asked, gently curious. Data and Guinan both hovered nearby, curious for the story.

"That was what he called himself," Kathryn explained, staring down at the black and gold floor and sighing in relief as Beverly injected her with the analgesic. "He said he had been travelling a long time and that he wanted to be with me. He distinctly avoided mentioning he was only using me to get to you." Pretending weakly to be jealous took away some of the fear still ravaging her heart. She could have done such terrible things. Ronin had wanted Beverly, and in the last thought of his Kathryn shared, he'd wanted her enough that he might have killed her in the attempt.

"Men," Beverly teased, rolling her eyes as she patted Kathryn's shoulder. She didn't have to be so kind and that made things worse. She'd been so wrapped up in Ronin that she'd barely done her duties. Ronin had been like an addiction, consuming all of her thoughts. She had become so desperate for his touch. She'd threatened Beverly's life and the life of her child, but there was no anger in the doctor's face.

Kathryn couldn't help feeling she'd didn't deserve to be forgiven. She'd been aiding a dangerous entity all because she--

"Mark!" she realised suddenly. "Oh god, Mark..."

"Mark?" Guinan wondered.

"My fiancé," Kathryn's heart crashed into her stomach and she really was nauseated. "I think I- no, I distinctly remember, writing him a Dear John letter and packing up his ring. Beverly, I have to-"

Beverly held her still, looking to Data. "Can you carry her to sickbay, please?"

"Of course, Doctor," Data agreed, looking at Kathryn for permission. "Commander, I am quite strong. You will not be a burden."

Kathryn wanted to argue but Beverly cut her off before she could speak.

"Hey, you've dislocated the joint and torn three ligaments your ankle," Beverly interrupted, but her tone was soothing. "When I'm done with that, I will let you use the comm system in my office and you can talk to Mark."

Data scooped her up, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Beverly's hands protected her ankle but the physical pain was parsecs away. She'd broken up with Mark, in a letter, without more than a few moments thought for his feelings. She'd taken the most important person in her life and pushed him away because a ghost told her too.

The trip to sickbay was a blur. Beverly tried to make conversation, but Kathryn couldn't focus. Looking at the doctor swamped her with guilt, and thinking about Mark made the guilt settle around her like cold mud.

"It's not your fault," Beverly reminded her as she ran something that whirred and lit up blue around the nearly healed joint of Kathryn's ankle.

Kathryn nodded dumbly, but she didn't agree with the sentiment. "I could have resisted him. He let me- I made a choice to be with him. I..." she shuddered and forced herself to keep looking into the other woman's gentle expression. "I wanted Ronin to stay with me."

Beverly sighed in understanding, slipping Kathryn's sock back on and patting her knee. "You're all done."

Immediately, Kathryn sat up and tried to slide off the bed. Beverly stopped her and she found herself staring down at the gentle swell of Beverly's stomach. Swallowing hard, Kathryn made herself look up. "And you're sure you're all right?"

Beverly tilted her head towards the biobed's display. "I'm fine, want me to prove it or are you going to trust your doctor?"

Kathryn tentatively put her foot down on the floor and sighed in relief. That no longer hurt and it was one small favour. "You said I could use your office?"

"Right this way," Beverly indicated, leading her towards the other side of sickbay. "Take as much time as you need. No one will bother you," she paused, debating something before she finished, "and I'll be here."

If she wanted to talk, Kathryn added in her head. Assuming she could even form words when she was done trying to save the mess she'd made of her life. The offer was genuine and Kathryn shook herself out of her own head enough to be polite.

"Thank you."

"Stranger things have happened on a starship," Beverly promised warmly and Kathryn was deeply grateful for the accompanying pat on her shoulder. Beverly's forgiveness didn't take away from what she'd done, but it made it a little easier to live with. She was going to have to live with this, however it turned out, for a long time.

"He'll understand," Beverly added with a hopeful little smile.

"Perhaps," Kathryn answered, unable to share her optimism. "I might not even be able to get a comm channel to Earth."

"Give it a try," Beverly urged her, turning from her to return to her duties. "Worf can do wonders with subspace."

Alone in Beverly's office, Kathryn sank into her chair. Activating the computer, she keyed the bridge. "This is Commander Janeway, I need a subspace channel to Earth."

A deep voice, definitely Lieutenant Worf's, answered. "We may be able to reach them through relay station four. A moment, Commander."

Kathryn drummed her fingers on her desk, hating herself for putting Mark through any of this. Maybe she should have just listened to him and taken the assignment at the Andorian shipyard, or the first officer's posting on the _Aeryn, _anything that kept her away from the interesting assignments the _Enterprise_ always had. She'd only been on board a week, and her life was in ruins. Digging her fingers into the back of her neck, she sighed heavily. Her stomach refused to stop churning.

"I have a connection, who would you like to request?" Worf asked her, breaking her thoughts.

"Mark Johnson, in Brazil, the Questor Group."

The Federation symbol faded into black, then the neat logo of Earth's communication network appeared as the computer waited for the connection. Would he even take her call? What was she going to say? Hello, I'm sorry I broke up with you but I was possessed at the time...

All thoughts and words vanished from her mind when Mark's greying brown hair, brown eyes and curious smile appeared on her computer screen.

"I didn't think I'd speak to you again," he said neutrally.

Tears overwhelmed her resolve, hot and angry as they ran down her face. She still didn't know what to say, but the words began to flow just as quickly when she opened her mouth.


	3. Thine Own Self

"Jean-Luc," Beverly said, grabbing his shoulder with her hand. "I need a bottle of wine." She set down the play she'd been reading on the table and waited for him to acknowledge her.

Jean-Luc looked up from his book, startled by the request. He had been deep in his book since they'd sat down after dinner. He'd started with Shakespeare and switched to old Oriental poetry becausehe wanted the melancholy. Sito Jaxa had died in the course of her mission, and it was only hours ago he announced her death to the crew. She was a brave young woman, the kind that made an excellent officer; he knew she'd be missed.

If that wasn't enough for one afternoon, Beverly had faced off with some kind of anaphasic ghost inhabiting his first officer. He kept her close after dinner and chose to sit on the sofa with her feet in his lap instead of on the other chair because he wanted to be able to touch her. He kept a hand on her knee as he read the old poetry, having her with him calmed his heart.

Beverly appeared less shaken by her experience than he had been by his She had been the one drawing him out all evening. Dinner would have been nearly silent without her making conversation. It had been pleasant just to be together, a kind of unwinding they'd both needed. As he turned the crisp pages and felt the warmth of her body against his, Jean-Luc started to relax.

Her sudden request shouldn't have startled him. He shifted his book, running his hand slowly around her normally slender ankle. He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of her uniform and massaged her ankle lazily. The flesh beneath her pale skin was slightly swollen and Beverly had been making an effort not to complain. She pulled it away, smiling at him playfully.

Jean-Luc turned his eyes to her, missing the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. "Beverly, I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you can't-"

"-drink it," she finished, sitting up enough to kiss his cheek. "Or coffee, or go hang gliding off the Cliffs of Heaven."

Closing the red leather cover, he set the book down and turned to her, putting both hands back on her feet. Her flesh was warm, and he wanted to run his hands all the way up her legs. "You hate hang gliding."

"I do miss coffee," she muttered, but resurrected her smile. She looked at him for a moment, leaning her head against the back of the sofa. Her red hair fell in lazy waves around her face and Jean-Luc thought about brushing it back. He loved it down because of the way it fell around her face.

"I've had enough of an adrenaline rush for the next few days," she finished softly.

He ran his hand up to her knee, moving it in a slow circle while he waited for her to finish.

"Data and Guinan both moved so fast," she explained, looking down at his hand. Her tone faltered a little and the smile vanished from her face. "One minute I'm talking to Kathryn and the next there's this ghost, threatening to run off with our daughter." Her hand landed on top of his and gripped it, hard. Her fingers were much cooler than her legs and she held tight. "And everything's all right. I'm fine. The baby's fine." Sighing again in relief, she smiled at him. "We're lucky to have so many people looking out for us."

"But you're concerned someone isn't fine?" he asked, keeping his eyes on hers. He knew that look and the set of her jaw. Jean-Luc knew how to read her blue eyes when she let them drift uneasily. Uncertainty crept into her posture as well, and it was difficult not to take her into his arms.

"I want to go check on your first officer," Beverly explained, dragging her feet off his lap and sitting up with a sigh. Her free hand rested on her belly, something both of them were doing much more often. Jean-Luc took her hand and wrapped both of his around it to warm it. When that made her smile a little, he leaned close enough to kiss her cheek.

"I don't think her conversation with her fiancé went at all well," Beverly continued, "and I want to make sure she's all right."

Jean-Luc quelled his first reply, that she shouldn't meddle, and swallowed the second. He could send a counselor to speak to with his first officer, but that felt like prying. Beverly might be right, and his first officer was just as trapped as he was by the chain of command. Janeway couldn't confess her troubles to just anyone on board. With this in mind, he began neutrally, "If she's just ended that relationship, she might wish to be alone."

"Then she can send me away," Beverly insisted, taking her hand from his and pulling her socks and boots back on over her bare feet. "My play definitely isn't going anywhere."

Getting up off the sofa took more energy than he wanted to expend but Jean-Luc succeeded and headed for his private stock of real wine. "Does this call for the '41? Or can you get away with the '56?"

"It's not the wine that matters when you're drinking to forget," Beverly reminded him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her head rested against his back and her belly was hard against him. It was big enough to keep her from resting her chin against his shoulder. The rate their child had been growing in the past few weeks still startled him.

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but her eyes shone with humour. "Surely you remember being dumped-"

"I don't think anyone forgets that," he agreed, tracing her face with his hand. There was a glow about her skin, something she constantly denied, but he loved it.

Beverly grabbed the bottle of wine from his hand and put it back. She took another and held it up for his approval. He examined the label and titled his head, curious at her choice.

"Let me have this bottle of the '63," Beverly decided. "If it went as badly as it sounded, I might already be too late. She was in my office for over an hour and didn't talk to me when she came out." Running her hand over his chest, she paused, kissing him again. She lingered and he smiled when they broke. "You know, Jean-Luc, the best part of today was that you were here when I got done with my shift." She didn't give him time to react to that very intimate statement before she headed for the door.

Quickly catching up to her, Jean-Luc smiled at her. "I'll walk you down to her quarters." She accepted the offer with a little smile. Beverly had always been kind, and one of the most approachable members of the senior staff. Lately, he was certain he'd noticed a change. She was more protective. "You're very," he really couldn't think of another word, "maternal recently."

Beverly chuckled as the doors of their quarters slid open into the corridor. She seemed amused, even touched by the thought. "It's going to get worse. Trust me."

"Implicitly," he replied, making her all the more amused as they turned the corner. The corridor was empty and he surrendered his next thought. "I've gotten used to having you."

Beverly tightened her grip on his arm. "I've always been here."

He nodded; he couldn't argue that point. Jean-Luc was trying to say things had changed in his life, for the better, especially between them. She was his wife. It was entirely acceptable for him to want to see her smile when he had made a difficult decision or need to touch her cheek when his heart was heavy. This was a gift, and tonight he was acutely aware of its importance.

"I know what you're thinking," she announced, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You'll take a month or so to admit it, but eventually, you'll come to terms with it."

"Oh?" he asked, curious.

Beverly stopped in front of Janeway's quarters, the wine bottle cradled in her arm. "You like being married," she answered, her bright blue eyes twinkling.

Chuckling as the warmth of being in love passed through his chest, he raised his eyebrows. "And I shouldn't?"

Beverly grinned, patting his shoulder. The rest of her thought was going to wait. "How's my poker face?" she asked him with a sigh. Her smile vanished expertly and she leaned in to whisper, "I think Mark may be keeping Kathryn's dog."

He kissed her cheek, something intimate for the corridor, but this once he could get away with it. "I'll see you later," he promised, and Beverly nodded.

"I won't stay out too late." Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes shone with amusement which faded as she hit the door chime. He watched Beverly stroke her belly with her free hand. Their daughter had been a 'handful' lately. Though he loved watching her naked belly, waiting for a glimpse of a foot through her flesh. Beverly swore it lost its novelty after awhile, but she did so smiling. She tended to smooth over all of her complaints about being pregnant with a smile or some kind of joke. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, but it was an endearing quality.

Left by himself in the corridor, he headed for the turbolift and stood within it for a moment. He could return to his quarters and his book, but he was in the mood for company. It was not an evening to spend alone and Jean-Luc knew just who he wanted to spend it with.

* * *

Ten Forward was a little fuller than usual. Losing Ensign Sito had been hard on the entire crew and they were seeking each other out for comfort. Worf had been sitting with her friends, Sam Lavelle, Vorik and Alyssa Ogawa, for several hours. She was proud of the Klingon for being so outgoing. She smiled at him and gave him another prune juice without a word. It would be good for him to hear how Sito had lived.

Jean-Luc Picard rarely walked into Ten Forward alone anymore, and Guinan noticed him immediately as he entered. He was out of uniform and relaxed. The smile he had for her as he noticed her behind the bar was genuine. It was an incredible thing to have him be so happy. After all the years they'd known each other, marriage had definitely changed him for the better. He was filled with a different kind of joy since he'd been married, and he demonstrated it much more often.

She tapped the bar and tilted her head towards a stool. "On your own for the evening?"

He nodded, resting his hands on the glass bar and eyeing the multicoloured bottles behind her. "It appears that way," Picard said, smiling and raising his eyebrows. He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "Beverly's consoling my Number One."

Guinan turned from him, searching her collection of real liquor as she listened to him. The bottle she wanted was around here somewhere, next to the Aldeberan Whisky but not next to the Starduster mix. She'd put the bottle away, so it was right next to the three bottles of Romulan Ale she kept around for emergencies. Disguising them as Itharcan ceremonial funeral wine kept everyone away from the illicit beverage and let her keep them close at hand.

Pulling up the crystal cut bottle of traditionally brewed, if not authentic, El Aurian lammachide, Guinan tugged at the stopper as she watched him mull over the possibilities for what was in the bottle.

"We're celebrating," she offered, setting down the bottle in front of him. Grabbing two glasses, she set them on either side of the bottle and bowed her head a little. Wondering if the gesture would make him remember the cultural significance, she beamed as he caught the hint. Jean-Luc knew what it was and his smile brightened even more once he understood the significance.

"Where did you find lammachide?" he asked, pouring a swallow into a glass and setting it between them. "I didn't know anyone in the galaxy still made it."

"Remember my son Archai? The one who wanders through different careers the way you or I would change outfits," she said, lifting the cup and bowing her head again before she looked into his eyes and took a sip. "I hear and am heard," she said, formally passing the cup back.

Picard snapped his fingers, remembering the words just in the nick of time. "I am heard and I hear?" The question floated until she inclined her head respectfully. Then he smiled in mock relief and took a sip. He smacked his lips, nodding in approval. "Exquisite."

"I know," she agreed, pouring his cup full and passing him the bottle so he could pour hers. "I was hoping my son would choose this as his vocation when I realised he had such a knack for brewing. He gets the bubbles just right," she noted, lifting the clear, handleless cup and watching the bubbles cling to the sides. Meeting Picard's eyes, she took a sip and smiled contentedly when the liquid warmed to her mouth and fizzed across her tongue. The hints of spice clung to the inside of her nose and she sighed.

"Children cannot be what we want them to, only what they wish," she told him. "I may be a bit pre-emptive in the warning, but it's never too early to warn a expectant father what he's getting himself into."

"I hope you won't think less of me for admitting that I expect to cherish every minute of it," he chuckled dryly. "At least, that's what I think when I feel my daughter move."

"It is incredible, isn't it?" she asked, sipping her lammachide slowly. "Your daughter," she paused and waved her hand at the cup, "and the drink."

"And my wife," he added, smiling over at her. Picard's face changed so much when he smiled. The green shirt he wore added a brightness to his eyes and over the last few months, he laughed easily. Marriage suited him, more than anyone might have predicted. "Beverly amazes me each day," he continued, watching the surface of his drink. "Even when she tells me she's complaining too much or I think about all the complaints she might have that she never voices."

"It's a heady experience, isn't it?" Guinan replied, looking past Picard to the crew half-filling the lounge. The captain drew his share of looks when he was in the lounge. When the rumours were running rampant through the ship about the captain and a certain chief medical officer either of their appearances in Ten Forward would slowly draw curious looks. Now that they were married, they were simply the source of knowing glances and half smiles of approval.

Picard, of course, had no idea his crew saw him that way and Guinan took pleasure in keeping it that way. Whatever he thought the crew's opinion of his marriage was, he was too content to spend much time wondering. "What was your first like?" he asked after he'd taken a few sips of his drink. "However many centuries ago he or she was born."

"More than I'll admit here," Guinan replied, dredging up the memory of her first child. "I had my son with my second husband. The first hadn't wanted children and I was surprised when my second mentioned wanting to have one. It was the discussion of many nights; something we joked about over meals. Frequently, my people do things slowly. Sometimes it feels like we talk about an idea more than we engage with it."

Resting her chin on her hand, she looked deep into Picard's hazel eyes. He stared back at her, without looking away, waiting patiently for her story.

"It is one of the things I love about humans," she continued, "you're so committed to an idea that you just do it. Like Beverly and this baby, you wanted them both, now you have them. There weren't years of discussion, you just did accepted it."

"Whether or not it took us years is a matter of some debate," he admitted sheepishly. Picard's wry smile was a rare moment of vulnerability and something she appreciated that he shared with her.

"You're together now," she reminded him, watching him finish his drink. "My son was perfect. Completely perfect, whether he cried or laughed and spilled his juice across the table. Grew up to be an engineer, always seeking perfection. It suited him."

Picard looked at her glass, waiting for her to finish her drink before he refilled it. "How did you know what to do?"

Guinan swallowed the last of her lammachide. "Trial and error," she said, lifting her glass to be refilled. Picard would respect her telling him the truth. "A whole lot of both."

* * *

"It took you seven years?" That was a ridiculous amount of time to avoid a relationship. Kathryn lifted her head slowly from her hands. The motion made her head spin a little, and Beverly's hand caught her shoulder. That steadied her head and the room followed. They sat on the sofa together, an empty wine glass next to an empty bottle on the table in front of them. A lonely tea cup sat next to the wine glass with a little liquid in the bottom.

Kathryn's auburn hair was only loosely up, and wisps of it kept escaping. "Seven years?" she repeated. Giggling a little, she leaned back on the sofa, trying not to shake her head. She was out of uniform and her hair was down.

"We had several close encounters. Even on our second mission," Beverly explained with a little sigh. The good doctor's cheeks flushed pink and Kathryn waited impatiently for the story.

Beverly had been patient, listening to Kathryn's rambling complaints about Mark, and her memories of Justin. When Kathryn had reached the bottom of the bottle of wine, the pain was numb and she'd grown curious about the doctor's past. Teasing her about the captain would have been difficult sober, but now that she was tipsy her curiosity won out.

"Have you read about the Psi 2000 virus?" Beverly asked, setting down her tea cup and folding her hands over her belly.

"At the Academy, second year," she said, tilting her head. "Unknown pathogen makes everyone go wacko, would be hilarious if people didn't die…"

"Actually," Beverly corrected with a twist of her lips, "it's much more like being intoxicated. I stormed right into his ready room and tried to convince him to take me on the desk."

Now that was good. Sitting up straight, then falling over towards Beverly, Kathryn rested her head on the doctor's shoulder. "Really?"

"I was trying to report to him but under the influence of the damn virus all I could think about was how much I wanted to strip off his uniform and...you get the idea," Beverly finished with an evil smirk.

Kathryn covered her mouth as she giggled. That was something that had been left out of the service records and mission reports. "How'd he resist you? How'd you resist him after he was infected?" Beverly's blue eyes had a wicked glint and she realised there was more to the story. "Oh you minx, you did it, didn't you? You're the one who infected him."

"I don't see how that makes me a minx-"

Kathryn looked down at her belly, asking the baby for help. "You agree don't you? Remember, you'll need me to agree with you someday. Your mother's a wicked little- well, I suppose she's tall, actually- minx."

Beverly laughed, a rich, gentle sound. She finally agreed, idly stroking Kathryn's hair. "All right, no need to start a conspiracy with the little one. We teased each other, but nothing really came of it. What else can I tell you..."

As Beverly thought, she continued running her fingers through Kathryn's hair, reminding Kathryn of her sister Phoebe. What was she going to say when she had to tell her about Mark? Kathryn dreaded the eventual conversation already.

"Do you have any family?" Kathryn interrupted Beverly's thoughts. "Other than Wesley, who really is a lovely young man."

"Thank you." Beverly accepted the compliment before she answered the question. "I don't, now that Nana- my grandmother's died. Jean-Luc has his brother, sister-in-law and his nephew René. They're my family now."

"I only asked," Kathryn paused, regretting that she might have been prying. "and I am sorry I asked-"

"It's all right," Beverly soothed, pulling up her legs beneath her. She kept finding the oddest ways to sit but Kathryn couldn't blame her.

"You remind me of my sister," she finished the explanation lamely. She sighed and toyed with her sleeve. "And I'm babbling."

Shifting again, moving her knees so they were comfortable, Beverly grimaced a little. "You're allowed," she promised. "What's your sister like?"

The grimace was for her body, not anything Kathryn had said, and the first officer felt a warm rush of sympathy. "Passionate, ruthless, artistic...she got me out of bed when my father and Justin died," she finished. "For a while there, I didn't think anyone could, but she did." Rolling onto her back, she rested her head on the sofa right next to the blue and black curve of Beverly's belly. From that vantage point, the future baby Picard took up most of the horizon. That thought made her giggle again.

"Justin would have come on the _Enterprise_ with me," she mused, still wandering through the past. It was true. He was a security officer, one of the best, and he'd have been thrilled to be on the _Enterprise_. "Security," she rambled, trying to get her thoughts out into the world. "Would have just loved working for a Klingon. Would have gone crazy training, trying to learn everything Worf could teach him."

Thinking about Justin, dead beneath the ice far away, made her chest grow tight and she shook her head quickly. "Tell me about Jean-Luc."

Whenever she couldn't handle the subject at hand, Kathryn would beg Beverly to tell some story of her own. As the night slipped by, she knew she had a friend. First Beverly had talked about growing up on Caldos, then dancing and trying to hide the fact that she was dancing at the Academy. They had an appointment with the holodeck and a ballet studio together after the baby was born.

Eventually in their conversation came Jack, Beverly's good-hearted, if oddly humoured, husband; now, they spoke of Jean-Luc.

"Once he saved my life when I was injured," Beverly told her softly, sensing the shift in mood. Her eyes softened as she looked down. "He's saved my life many times, while saving the ship, but that time it was just the two of us. We were running from a damn robotic hunting device and we fell into an old control room. It was a long way down and he somehow managed it without being hurt but I broke my arm and mangled my leg. I remember him trying so hard to be brave and hopeful, keeping me awake and from giving up."

The hand in Kathryn's hair stopped and Beverly's expression, floating far above the blue wall of her belly, was remarkably vulnerable. It was that look, that loving, enraptured look some couples had for each other. Kathryn had it with Justin. She'd thought she had it with Mark. Reaching up across her chest, she patted the back of Beverly's hand.

"He came down to sickbay while I was in recovery," Beverly continued, smiling sweetly. "Geordi still had the con, and I remember that making me laugh because it was so good of him to let him keep it. Jean-Luc sat with me when I fell asleep, and he was still there when I woke up. He denied it, of course, but one of the nurses told me later that he'd been there the whole time, reading his book."

"That's adorable!"

"It is," Beverly agreed, turning serene with her smile. "Jean-Luc is a very dear man. Not that you or I should ever say that in public about him."

Miming sealing her lips, Kathryn agreed. "I don't know if it detracts from the legend of Captain Picard or makes him even more extraordinary."

Beverly was more philosophical, probably because she was sober. "We all have our public and private personas," she decided.

"Mark definitely does," Kathryn said. The words were bitter in her mouth but maybe she needed to say them. Getting them out took some of the venom away. "He's all philosopher in public. He's all professor and thinker as if there's nothing else in the world. In private, when he's out of the world, he's this darling man."

"Surely he could be a philosopher here," Beverly interjected, curious. She'd been careful not to ask early on, but now they were both comfortable with each other. "The _Enterprise_ meets new worlds with new ideas, attends conferences, negotiates peace treaties; it's not like we're a long range deep space vessel that's out of contact with the academic world for years at a time."

"Something I may have shouted at him over subspace," Kathryn groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. Hiding her eyes didn't make the facts disappear, no matter how she wished it would. "Among many other nasty things. You know, it wasn't even Ronin that was the problem. He forgave me for that. He was worried about something bad happening to me. It was what the damn entity represented. A whole universe of scary bad things that could take me hostage or prisoner and send me home in a casket with a Federation flag on top."

"What we signed on for," Beverly agreed with a dark smile. "Do you think he didn't want to risk you or himself?"

"Half a dozen of one..." Kathryn sighed again. "Who gives up cooking for a replicator? Who gives up the Brazilian jungle for the holodeck and a springball court? Mark is happy to be my husband, but there's not enough room in a marriage for me, him and Starfleet."

"Then he's not good enough for you," Beverly said, surprising the other woman with her outburst. "I'm sorry," she added. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but if he's asking you to choose, give up the stars for a desk job at command so he can stay on Earth, that's not fair to you. If he won't come here, you shouldn't be obliged to go back to Earth. Not when you'd be unhappy."

Kathryn rolled her head back up, staring at the ceiling above her. "How do I know I'd be unhappy?"

"I think you know," Beverly ventured, shifting her hips a little so she could look down at her. "You went back to starships after the accident that killed your father and Justin. You've been on them ever since. If you'd be happy on a planet, you would have asked for one."

Beverly was right. She had the frustrating habit of being so that reminded Kathryn of her sister. It was compounded by the fact that instead of being a flighty artist she could brush off, Beverly was a doctor. And not just a doctor, but a Starfleet officer, happily married, and a parent. It didn't mean she'd be right all the time, but Kathryn was betting on her tonight.

Mark wasn't willing to change his life for her; she wasn't willing to change for him. Something had to give eventually. Perhaps it was better that they had only ended an engagement instead of getting divorced. Holding on to that dark thought let her dislike Mark as much as she hated herself. They weren't ready for each other, and they never were going to be.

When Kathryn raised her eyes, she didn't know how long she'd been lost in thought, Beverly was smiling again.

"What?" she asked.

"I think someone can hear you," Beverly explained, sliding her hand around and into Kathryn's line of sight. "She's much more interested in your side of my womb at the moment."

"Sorry?" Kathryn offered half-heartedly, sitting up and giggling. The room spun a little, as if it were part of an ancient sea simulation in the holodeck. "I can try to be boring."

"It's just the voice," Beverly promised sagely. "I think she likes it. She'll follow Jean-Luc from side to side if we change positions and she's awake. Maybe she's going to grow up to be a counselor or a diplomat, something where she deals with people."

"May I?" she asked, more eager than she expected to feel baby Picard moving around. Beverly accommodated her by taking her hand and placing it over an odd protrusion. Maybe it was an arm. "Do you think she'll join Starfleet?"

Chuckling, Beverly quirked her lips. "Always a possibility," she said. "It was the only thing Wesley wanted, from when he was tiny. He's always wanted to be in Starfleet. Perhaps she will, perhaps she'll be a violinist or a teacher. As long as she's happy."

If people had babies on starships, there certainly wasn't a reason Mark couldn't write his books on starships. Other than he didn't want to and when it got down to it, there were things Mark just wasn't ready to give up. She couldn't hate him for it, as much as she wanted to, because she was equally unwilling to move to Earth. She needed to think about something else. Maybe the little one was on her side. Baby Picard turned into her hand, pressing some unknown body part up against the flesh of her mother's body.

"Can I ask? What made you decide to have her?"

Beverly sighed, and Kathryn looked up caught her blushing. "That's a little complicated."

Kathryn smiled and looked around mysteriously. "I like complicated. As long as the little one won't be offended, I'll tell you who Lwaxana found in your bedroom during your bachelor party if you tell me how baby Picard came to be."

"Oh, she wouldn't tell me!" Beverly glared. Obviously she'd been wondering for awhile, and Kathryn was pleasantly surprised that the Ambassador had been so tight-lipped with her secret. "It wasn't--"

Kathryn held her ground. If she was going to admit what had happened between her and Chakotay to anyone, she needed a good reason to do so. "Tell me about the baby, and I'll tell you what Lwaxana wouldn't."

Beverly debated for a moment, returning to that calm poker face that was going to be difficult to beat on Tuesday. Poker nights on the _Enterprise _were as cutthroat as springball had become on the _Billings_. Thankfully, Kathryn was better at poker.

"I'm even intoxicated enough to provide details I normally would not sink to..." she admitted with a long sigh.

"Tease," Beverly accused playfully. "All right, if you get me a cup of tea and save me from having to get up, I'll tell you about the little one."

"You can't laugh at me if I can't chart a straight course to the replicator," Kathryn protested as she got unsteadily to her feet. The thrumming of the warp drive seemed to be coming all the way up through the deck plating to her feet. She clung to the sofa and the wall for a moment and then found her balance.

"I might laugh if you trip," Beverly admitted, "but I'll heal you if you damage anything."

"I hate doctors," Kathryn muttered, finally making her way the two meters to the replicator. Leaning gratefully on the wall, she turned her head back to her guest. "Always so self-righteous."

"Nothing at all like first officers," Beverly argued, moving her legs from one side to the other. "Peppermint, if you don't mind."

Walking back with the hot tea in her hand was much more difficult than walking back on her own, but somehow, moving slowly, she made it. Kathryn set it down victoriously and realised just before she sat that a glass of water, or two, would probably be a good idea. She turned back to the replicator and heard Beverly chuckling behind her.

"Jean-Luc went on leave," Beverly started her story. "He likes going on archeological digs on strange planets. The dirtier and more removed from Federation space, the more he seems to like them--"

* * *

Sleep was a pleasant state. The comfort of his bed, the stilling of his thoughts and the knowledge that everything was right with the _Enterprise_: with all of those, Jean-Luc could sleep soundly. Having Beverly in bed next to him was a new requirement, and sometimes she was late. He'd learned slowly to go to sleep without her, but hadn't yet learned to sleep through her arrival.

The door to their quarters hissed open then shut again, and he heard her take off her boots. The sigh of relief that followed the swishing sound of her stripping off her uniform made him smile. A moment later Beverly crawled into bed next to him, curling around his chest. Her head slipped into its accustomed spot on his shoulder.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily.

Beverly yawned, squeezing his waist with her arm. "Just past oh-two hundred," she whispered. "She's feeling better."

It took a moment for his tired mind to realise that Kathryn was the 'she' Beverly was talking about. She'd gone over there with a bottle of his wine hours ago. Well before he'd stayed far too late in Ten Forward with Guinan and sparkling El Aurian wine. "Did you leave a hypo for the hangover?" That made her giggle, and he felt Beverly's breasts move against his side.

"I did," she promised, moving up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for letting me abandon you for the night."

"I'm glad you're back," he murmured, losing the battle against sleep. She kissed his cheek again, then settled down. Resting his hand on her back, Jean-Luc slipped back into his dream. Something about riding a horse through the Azure Nebula, or some other nonsense.

* * *

"I thought you'd be asleep," Deanna's voice carried up from the comm. On the little screen in the ready room, Deanna's bright smile beamed up at her. "I was sure I'd be leaving a message with Data."

Beverly couldn't believe it had only been a few weeks since she'd seen her friend. Getting Deanna's message during her watch on the bridge was a stroke of luck. Gamma shift was often quiet and tonight she had the luxury of sitting in Jean-Luc's chair, in his ready room, talking to Deanna on Earth.

"What is it Enterprise time? Oh-three-hundred?" Deanna continued, teasing. The wall behind her had a large window with trees and flowers, and Beverly assumed she was in San Francisco.

Nodding her head, Beverly scrolled through another perfectly ordinary sensor scan and approved it. "Closer to oh-four-hundred now," she answered. "It doesn't feel that late," she explained. "I'd be tired now if I was on alpha or beta shift."

"That bad?" Deanna's tone was sympathetic and Beverly appreciated it. As much as she resented the implication that she was less capable of her duties, they were tiring. She'd had to pass off two surgeries that she normally would have done herself. The administrational side of sickbay was the easiest to manage, but unfortunately was the least rewarding.

It would be a relief to have her own body back in two months. "If I could schedule naps into my day I'd be just fine," she replied. "It's all right. The gamma shifts are a nice change. After this I can sleep all day."

"Find the positive side," Deanna agreed. She sighed and rested her chin on her hands. Something was on her mind. "May I ask what made you take the bridge officer's test? You didn't need the rank to be chief medical officer."

Setting down the padd, Beverly turned to Deanna's expectant expression on the little screen and crossed her arms thoughtfully. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain class reunion Will mentioned you going to?"

Deanna winced and tossed a glare off screen. "I had the chance to reconnect with some old friends. I'd fallen out of touch with most of them. It was interesting to see the different paths their lives have taken..." She took a breath then smiled. "What did you do with Data to get his shift?"

"Data's away on assignment," Beverly promised, returning the smile. "A probe crashed on Barkon Four. Some of the materials in the casing are radioactive so Data was sent to recover it before it contaminated the biosphere."

"And you jumped on his shift?" Deanna joked, tossing something at someone offscreen. The someone nudged in, his bearded face spilt with a grin.

"You do glow," Will teased before Deanna smacked him away. "And it looks beautiful," he called as he retreated. "Give Jean-Luc my regards."

"He's on his way to meet our new first officer, Commander Nilshala," she explained with a final glare in Will's direction. "We're having dinner with her tomorrow, but Will wanted time to get to know her a bit while she's here."

Pleased that Will was adjusting so well, Beverly waited for Deanna to be alone. "Seems like someone can't get enough of being captain..."

"He loves it," Deanna assured her, dropping her hands down into her lap. "When he's not looking at how _Voyager_ is put together he's cobbling together the crew roster and writing training simulations for the holodeck. He's absolutely set on living up to Captain Picard's example, no matter how many times I tell him he's chosen some very large shoes to fill."

"He'll be fine," Beverly promised, remembering the long talks she and Jack had with Jean-Luc when he was promoted to captain. Convincing him of his own strengths had been an interesting set of discussions. "Will's very adaptable."

"So people keep telling me," Deanna muttered. A curly mass of dark hair tumbled over her shoulder and she smirked. "How's baby Picard?"

"The little one?" she answered with a smile. The nickname drew the wince from Deanna she'd been expecting.

"Oh you're not," Deanna protested, eyes widening in mock despair. "You didn't." She frowned helplessly. "She'll hate it once she's twelve."

"She'll hate everything I do when she's twelve," Beverly teased her. Wesley had been such an easy teenager. The only thing like rebellion from him was dating a princess and designing supersmart nanites that ate the computer core. It was a far cry from some of the things Beverly had done at his age. "She'll probably dye her hair blue and listen to Klingon opera."

Deanna made a curious sound and giggled. "That doesn't seem too bad, the captain loves Klingon opera. I don't know how well blue will suit her colouring."

Dropping her head into her hands, Beverly pretended to sigh in exhaustion at the thought. "Wesley was almost too well behaved. Our little one has Jean-Luc's stubborn streak and my-"

"Tenacity?" Deanna guessed.

Lifting her head as she rubbed her temples, Beverly shook it once. "I just hope it's not my tongue."

"Beverly, you're quite tactful," Deanna reminded her gently.

"I am now," Beverly corrected her with a wince born of old memories. "You should have seen me at thirteen."

"When were you a brunette?" The counselor toyed with a lock of her own hair for emphasis. "That's what I still want to see."

Sitting back in Jean-Luc's chair, Beverly eyed her suspiciously. Will had mentioned a bet she'd never gotten to make good on, Will, Worf and Geordi's beards against her being a brunette. "Don't I get to have any secrets?"

"No, not really," she teased her back with a finger pointing out of the comm screen. "I'm starved for gossip off the _Enterprise_."

"I don't follow the gossip when it's about me," Beverly sighed. Though it had calmed now that the novelty of her, the captain and a baby, had worn off. Maybe she'd been crazy to think having another child was a good idea. She hadn't been thinking clearly at the time, but in her experience, few people were when they became parents. When Wes was small, she had Jack to share her burden, though not all of the time. This time she had Jean-Luc and because of the _Enterprise_, a much more equitable parental workload. Thinking of him made her smile, and Beverly ran her hand along her belly.

Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she searched Deanna's face for the thought lingering behind her dark eyes. "You should take the bridge officer's test, if you're thinking about it. You have the time on Earth, don't you?"

"Nothing but," Deanna sighed again, heavily. "You know, when I was on the _Enterprise_, I longed for the chance to do research, or write a paper. I spent so much time in the practice that I thought I'd let my intellectual muscles go."

Beverly nodded in understanding. She'd had similar moments. Once she was finally done with all the bureaucracy of Starfleet Medical, she was expected to publish and keep up with the glut of papers in the endless number of Federation Medical journals each month. She liked research, even missed it when she was too busy on the _Enterprise_ to keep up with what was being published, but the bureaucracy of all of that exhausted her.

"Staying out of the paperwork?" she asked, lifting one of the PADDs and glancing across the title. "How is the psychology division? Admiral Sunxeris still giving everyone a hard time?"

Deanna rolled her eyes. "Admiral Sunxeris seems to believe that the primary purpose of counselors is to file reports on the welfare of the crew. It took me three weeks just to finish my exit analysis of everyone about the _Enterprise_."

"Take the bridge officer's test," Beverly suggested with a sympathetic smile. "A few holographic crises might be a welcome escape from paperwork."

"I'll bring it up with Will," Deanna said, but Beverly could tell she'd already decided to take it.

"One stint in the captain's chair is never enough," she teased and glanced down at the time on the bottom of her communiqué. She could never find time to have a conversation on the alpha shift. The quiet of the _Enterprise_ at night it was precisely one of the reasons she loved the gamma shift. "I thought you'd be back."

"I'll let you know how it goes," Deanna agreed with a begrudging smile. She appreciated the support, but she had to fight against the teasing a little. "Give the captain our best."

"Of course," Beverly promised, then gave in to the smirk she'd been hiding. "Tell Will four pips make his neck look sleeker."

"They really do, don't they?" Deanna agreed, chuckling a little. "He's very happy."

Setting down the PADD she wasn't paying attention to, Beverly grinned at the screen. "As are you, it appears."

"The move has been good for us both," she explained, leaning back in her chair and glancing over at the sunshine. "It really has given us time to explore what we really want from our lives."

The pause was enough for Beverly to have inserted 'together', but she settled on a knowing smile and a nod. "Let us know how it goes."

"The test?" Deanna asked, feigning innocence.

"Of course," Beverly replied. Her sarcasm made Deanna break into another smile. "That's what I want to hear about. Not how moving to Earth with Will has changed your relationship, or what it's like being so close to your mother and his father...or if you've thought about the gamete resequencing analysis I sent to Starfleet Medical for you. By all means, tell me about the test."

Deanna's huge dark eyes echoed with old pain for a moment, but being teased dragged her out of it and she surrendered. "Will and are talking about our relationship."

"You don't have to tell me everything, just think about it."

Leaning closer to the screen, Deanna folded her hands in front of it and narrowed her eyebrows in mock suspicion. "What is it about the newly married that makes them think they can recommend it for everyone else?"

"Rampant conceit," Beverly quipped. "Write me?"

Deanna's head bobbed in agreement. "Will still wants to see baby pictures."

"She's still skinny, only has a tiny amount of hair and her skin's all wrinkled," Beverly said, smiling. When Will realised that his demands for baby pictures were met without protest, he'd been regularly curious about baby Picard's development. "She should start putting on weight now."

"I bet that's wonderful for you," Deanna said sympathetically. "What's another few kilograms?"

Beverly chuckled dryly and wished she had another way to sit in her chair. She missed being able to pull up her legs and her hips were sore. "Say that while you can see your feet."

"You look beautiful," Deanna cooed as Beverly rolled her eyes. "Don't make me tell you what the captain was thinking when you got married."

"I'm going back to the bridge," Beverly retorted, smiling anyway. "I believe there's work I should be watching people do, counselor"

"Good night, sir."

Beverly's hand however over the panel, ready to end the transmission. "Not for much longer?"

"We'll see," Deanna ended with a mysterious smile. "Troi out."

The familiar symbol of the Federation replaced Deanna's face, and Beverly leaned back in her chair. Calling up her medical file and forwarding a picture of the last three dimensional scan of the baby to _Captain_ Riker, she picked up the paperwork she'd set down when Deanna's message had arrived. Filling the last shift report, she slowly left Jean-Luc's chair and returned to the command chair on the bridge.

One of the perks of being in command was definitely the chair, she thought as she took it. Not only did it have the best view of the bridge, but it was possibly the most comfortable chair on the ship. The viewscreen still displayed the starlines of warp, and everything seemed to be in order.

Ensign Ranier waited for her to be seated before he reported. "Commander," he began, "there's been no response from Commander Data to our signal. He may not have our updated time of arrival."

Beverly sighed and crossed her arms thoughtfully. She had hoped the radiation from the probe fragments wouldn't interfere with communications, but it seemed that Geordi had been right. "Keep sending him updates on our schedule."

"Aye, Sir."

Settling into the chair, she called up the endless list of diagnostics and training exercises she could run through and started scrolling. "Ensign, let's run that phaser diagnostic that we've been putting off. Take the main and secondary arrays offline and begin. I doubt anyone's going to attack us at warp and alpha shift will be all surprised if we get their work done for them."

"Aye, Sir," Ranier's tone was even when he replied, but she could see the ensign at the helm smiling. It was always an easier shift when everyone was in a good mood.

What was her name again? "Ensign Turner," that was it, Beverly remembered. The perky young pilot had one of the regional accents still found in humans. Most of the human crew spoke unaccented Standard, but like her husband, a few of the crew still had different pronunciations.

"Yes, Commander?" the young woman turned around in her chair, ready for instructions.

"Main Engineering has scheduled a test of the inertial dampeners. I'm going to need you to drop us in and out of warp, varying our speed and trajectory but still keeping us on course to Barkon Four. Seem like a fair challenge?"

The young woman nodded her head briskly and Beverly bit back a smile. There was something about the exuberance of young officers that made them a pleasure to serve with.

"Of course, Sir. No problem," Ensign Turner replied, turning back to her console. "You shouldn't feel a thing."

"Good," Beverly replied with a nod. "My balance isn't what it used to be."

Ensign Swanson at operations smirked a little and Beverly ran through the possible tasks she could assign her. She had the phasers and inertial dampeners, what else…

"Ensign Swanson," she began, putting the idea together in her head. "I'd also like to run a few surprise medical drills. Please inform the duty officer in sickbay and start sending alerts at random. Use the Jefferies tubes and other hard to reach areas. Make them work for it."

Swanson's smirk reached her eyes. Beverly suspected she'd enjoy making things difficult for the medical teams. "Aye, sir."

* * *

Beverly focused so much when she was working that he was fairly sure she'd forgotten he was there. Jean-Luc sat on the edge of the biobed and tried to hold perfectly still. She'd been drawing on the brown pattern the Barkonians naturally had on their foreheads. Across sickbay, he could see Doctor El-Ibim working a similar pattern into Janeway's hairline. If Beverly hadn't been too pregnant to send on an away team that required a corset, he would have sent the two of them.

Beverly had wanted to perform his cosmetic surgery, and he loved the excuse to watch her work. She rolled her hips a little, almost as if she was dancing in place, and he wondered if she noticed it. She moved more than she had a few months ago. Her belly continued to grow and she had moments where she was uncomfortable more often than she had before.

She put her hand on his chin and turned his head. Beverly hushed him when he tried to speak and turned his head in the other direction. Setting down the dermal regenerator, she nodded appreciatively. "I think you're done."

"Thank you," he murmured, smiling at her as she continued staring at her work.

"Next time I'm sitting and you're standing," she quipped, tilting his head and finally deciding she was pleased. He followed her over to check the modification of Kathryn's forehead, and rested his hand on her lower back. Jean-Luc got half a smile from his wife before she borrowed the dermal regenerator from Doctor El-Ibim and put the finishing touches on it.

The junior doctor smiled, his teeth bright white against his dark skin. He backed off and pointed towards the clothing one of the anthropologists had brought down to sickbay. "I believe yours is the green, sir."

Jean-Luc slid his hand up to Beverly's shoulder and squeezed it. "I've heard I look good in green," he said loud enough for her to hear him.

"It's just that tight green shirt you wear riding," Beverly replied curtly. "Not everything that's green."

"Too bad," he teased back. The outfit had a tight pair of leggings, black boots, pantaloons, a shirt, a heavy brocade vest, a jacket and a hat reminiscent of Earth's own Renaissance. He picked up all of it and headed for one of the private examination rooms in the back of sickbay.

He had his uniform jacket off and was pulling off his boots when Beverly let herself in. She smirked at him and slid down against the wall to the floor. Jean-Luc went to intervene, but she waved him off.

"I'm fine," she promised with a grin. "It's the getting up that's hard."

He stripped off his trousers and lifted the leggings with a frown. They were going to be tight and he hoped they weren't going to be itchy.

"You'll never get those on over your shorts," Beverly quipped from the floor.

He turned to face her and raised an eyebrow. "You believe so?"

She'd crossed her legs beneath her and with her arms balanced on her belly, she resembled a fourth century Ulricarian fertility statue, but he doubted she'd appreciate the comparison. His shorts were tight enough to the skin that he thought he'd be able to wear the tights over them, although just barely. It was possible she was just teasing him. Beverly had been in an excellent mood for the last few days.

"How much leave do you have?" she asked innocently.

He stopped pulling his tights up and smiled at her. "More than I should." He finished with his tights, which he had managed to fit over his shorts, and slipped the undershirt over his head.

"I want to go to Betazed," Beverly announced while his head was still beneath the fabric.

"On holiday?" he asked when his head popped through the neck of his shirt.

"I think Will and Deanna are getting married," she explained.

He pulled on the green brocade pantaloons and eyed her critically as he cinched his belt tight. "You know something I don't?"

"Perhaps," she teased back, inclining her head towards the rest of his Barkonian costume. "I want to know we have the option, should they decide to stop deluding themselves. Now, you'll need the vest and I think I'm going to love that hat."

Shrugging into the vest, Jean-Luc grabbed the jacket and caught her watching him. Her blue eyes were playful and she seemed completely relaxed on the floor. "The last time I spoke to Will we discussed how to make his first officer feel welcome and valuable. Something I believe he will have no problem doing."

"Maybe he'll make her land _Voyager_ on the Academy football field," Beverly joked. Jean-Luc had once made his first officer manually dock the separated halves of the _Enterprise_, but he had just been testing Will's knowledge of the ship. Will had every right to do the same.

He balanced the hat on his head, feeling every bit like an extra in one of Data's holodeck plays.

Beverly shook her head and raised her hands to him. "Crooked," she complained and waited for him to pull her to her feet. She groaned as she stood and when they were finally eye to eye, she released his hands and straightened his hat. "Much better."

Taking advantage of the privacy of the room, he kissed her. Beverly let her hands stay on his shoulders. She sighed and relaxed, taking her time to kiss him back. They paused, lazily standing together with their arms around each other.

"Be careful down there," Beverly whispered to him.

"Of course," he promised, nuzzling her cheek. "It's a peaceful culture. Janeway and I will take every precaution."

She ran a finger along his nose and smiled. "Tell her to keep the Barkonian women away from you," she said. "I expect you to come back to me. No matter how good you might look in green."

Chuckling, Jean-Luc kissed her soft lips before he replied. "Now I look good in all green?"

"Maybe this green," she decided playfully. Beverly kissed him lightly, pulling him even closer. "I love you," she whispered before she pulled back. Her hands were a gentle weight on his chest before she sighed and backed away. "You have a mission to go on."

"I love you too, and Beverly, I'll be back," he assured her again, lifting her hands with his and holding them close. "We only have to find Data. How hard can that be? He'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"We didn't even send him with a hat," she agreed, kissing him one more time. "Certainly not one as dashing as yours." She stopped and adjusted the cowl of fabric hanging down from his round, brocade and brown satin hat.

Janeway was dressed and ready by the time Jean-Luc emerged from the examination room. Beverly kept her grip on his hand for a moment, then released it.

"Ready, Captain?" Janeway asked, smoothing her long, full skirt. She wore a thick green ribbon twined into her hair, and the cut of her bodice dipped low over her chest. She stood stiffly at attention, presumably from the corset Beverly had avoided wearing due her pregnancy. She ran her hands down her sides and frowned. "I think you're the lucky one, Doctor."

Beverly smirked. "You can take yours off," she retorted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe someone has left me in charge of the ship."

He had to smile. With Data off the ship and the captain and first officer leaving, he'd put her in command during the away team's mission. Jean-Luc watched her go. Pregnancy had done little to detract from her natural grace; though her movements were slower there was still a poetry to them.

If Janeway noticed his distraction she said nothing and fell into step alongside him as they walked down towards the turbolift. She tucked her tricorder and phaser into the pockets of her long skirts with her commbadge. His own were hidden deep in his own clothing and he was eased by their presence. They took the transporter pad and nodded to the technician.

"Energise," Jean-Luc ordered, and the _Enterprise_ faded away behind the light of the transporter effect. His vision faded to black, then returned to a sunny afternoon on Barkon Four. They appeared in a clearing with sandy soil beneath their feet and tall, leafy trees above them. Far above the trees, beyond the atmosphere of the world, the _Enterprise_ waited for them to find their way home.

Janeway folded her hands neatly in front of her, inclining her head towards down the hill. "Shall we?" she suggested.

"By all means." The soil and leaves beneath their feet made soft sounds, and the trees rustled around them. Barkon Four was a quiet place, pre-industrial, and without the hum of technology that could be heard approaching a city on one of the Federation worlds. Sometimes he missed the quiet.

It was late summer, and the air had a hint of autumn in it. Jean-Luc was studying the leaves overhead, keeping step evenly with Janeway, when he realised she was smiling at him. "Something on your mind, Number One?"

"I was wondering what it's like not to go on every away team, sir," she answered, smiling serenely at him.

"Every once in awhile, a captain may have the privilege of leaving her ship," he replied. "I found the change one of the most difficult parts to adapt to when I was promoted. Instead of having the duty of action, the captain has the more trying duty of waiting. Keeping herself out of harm's way because the good of the crew is directly dependent on her well-being."

The woods opened up to a snaking path, and he offered his arm politely to her as they made their way into the village. Janeway covertly checked her tricorder before tucking it back away.

"Data's signature is in the north of the village, somewhere past the square" she reported before smirking and taking his arm. She moved her free hand while she talked, and as they continued he found her quite vivacious. "It is true then, the first three pips are light, but that fourth one weighs as much as a starship."

He chuckled dryly, remembering similar axioms of leadership when he was advancing up the ranks. "If not more," Jean-Luc agreed.

She seemed brighter than before, more focused now that she was free of Ronin's influence. Jean-Luc hadn't noticed it at the time, but now he could see the difference. A level of restraint was gone from her bearing. He spent a moment searching for pain in her eyes, but the light remained. Her gentle smile had wit behind it, and he was pleased to have the moment to speak with her.

"But you share that weight, don't you?" Janeway guessed, smiling at him more broadly as they entered the village. People moved around them, nodding in welcome, but two travellers in a city market were an unremarkable sight and not worth much notice. The marketplace was busy, with voices and the sounds of carts and coins all around them. Small, modest buildings of stone and wood flanked the street. It was a pleasant, lively place full of healthy, well-mannered people. He wondered what this village would become, centuries from now. Would they ever reach for the stars? Would plague and war stop them first or would they eventually reach out towards the unknown?

"I'd say a captain shares the weight of his position with all of his crew," he answered softly, lifting up a piece of pottery and studying the glazing. It was well made but simple. The bowl reminded him of something he might find on a dig site, somewhere across the galaxy on a world that was thousands of years different in its history. He put it back, moving on towards the north end of town.

Janeway drifted back to him, waving off the opportunity to buy some earthy smelling vegetables at a very special price. She took his arm again, leaning close to whisper to him. "You are famous for keeping your senior staff longer than anyone else in the fleet," she said, heading down towards the end of the rough stone street.

"I've been lucky," he answered. Lifting a farm rake, he set it down in favour of a broom. Putting that down again, he found Janeway's eyes still on him. Brushing his hands against his thighs, he turned to her. "Are we speaking of one of my staff in particular?"

She wound her arm around his back and pointed at a simple stone spire at the end of the street, lowering her eyes and her voice, she whispered, "There is a metal signature approximately the size of Data buried at the end of the street." She pulled away, moving a step or two ahead of him. "The answer to your question is perhaps I was. I find myself owing a great debt to your wife."

"A position I find myself in regularly," Jean-Luc replied as they came to a halt in front of the monument.

Janeway glanced carefully around and retrieved her tricorder from her pocket. She scanned the ground quickly before hiding the tricorder away again. "Data is under the earth here about two meters down and currently deactivated. The probe fragments seem to be buried with him."

Jean-Luc tapped the commbadge hidden in his vest. "Picard to _Enterprise_, we've found Commander Data. Connect with Commander Janeway's tricorder for his coordinates."

"Acknowledged, Captain," Beverly's voice answered. The fact that it was her made him smile. "We'll beam him and the probe fragments aboard."

"Thank you, _Enterprise_," he answered.

Janeway dropped to her knees, on the pretext of fixing the laces of her shoe. Her tricorder appeared again, then vanished back into her skirt. She brushed her hands clean and returned to his side. "There is no contamination of the water table, sir," she reported.

"What do you think happened here?" he asked, contemplating the idea as he examined the monument. "Seems that Mr. Data left an impression."

"Perhaps he can tell us," Janeway answered, turning her gaze back up towards the hill and the setting sun behind it. "Shall we?"

"Indeed," he agreed, relieved that it had been as simple as it was. No one in the village would even remember their presence by the end of the day and the Barkonians would continue on whatever course fate had laid out for them, uninhibited by their brush with the larger universe.

As they made their way out of the village, he watched the sun stream golden through the trees around them and took in the sweet, dry air of the forest. He'd enjoyed the reprieve. The simple missions gave him chances he had to reflect that did not come often. Watching Janeway following the path just ahead of him, he wondered how their relationship would develop.

It had taken him a long time to warm to Will, Jean-Luc remembered. Even though Will was a competent, brilliant officer and a charming, loyal friend, he hadn't been ready to be close to anyone under his command when he'd taken the _Enterprise_. Connecting with his Number One, learning to trust Deanna, finding ways to guide Data towards humanity, learning Geordi's genius, and understanding Worf's strength and dedication -- it only came once he was willing to trust his crew.

It had taken years to build those relationships. Once he'd been young and had all the time in the universe to make friends and fall in love. Once he'd met Beverly, he'd let the latter go, and drifted. It was not difficult to find women who intrigued him, he even cared for them, but they weren't her. He'd wasted years that he could have spent with her and now that he knew how happy he was with her, he occasionally felt quite the fool for not pursuing her sooner.

"Might I offer you a piece of advice?" Jean-Luc ventured after the silence between them had continued for some time. "It's something I should have listened to a long time ago, but it may be of benefit to you now."

"Oh?" Janeway bunched up her skirts to make her way over a fallen tree and waited for him patiently. Her blue eyes had a great deal of intelligence behind them. "I'm listening, Captain."

"I know things between you and your fiancé finished poorly," Jean-Luc said politely.

Janeway looked away, losing herself in the trees. When she brought her gaze back, her eyes were haunted once more with grief. She nodded and her lips turned upward in a bitter smile. "You might say that."

Halting his stride and turning to her, he wished he could do more to ease the pain she carried. "I know this may bring you little comfort now," he began gently. Giving relationship advice was not his forte. "In my experience, it is worth waiting for a partner who supports you completely. Someone who gives balance to your existence. No matter which assignment you draw, or what may befall you."

"Even becoming possessed by a plasma based entity claiming to be a Scottish ghost?" Janeway quipped, stiffening even as she continued to smile. Ronin had hurt her and the guilt was still with her. Endangering those around her was a terrible burden, and he knew too well what it was like to lose himself to something more powerful within his mind.

"Even that," he sighed. Touching her shoulder was almost too forward, but he didn't want to need years to get to know Janeway. He could command and be caring towards his crew, without doing harm to either intention. He'd learned that over the years. "I can't promise you that an excellent partner will be easy to find."

Janeway brightened under his touch and pointed up the hill towards their beam out site. "Are you saying that it will be worth the hunt?"

"That is what brings us out here, isn't it?" he remarked, cheerfully walking up the last of the hill. "The promise of the unknown."

"Even in relationships," Janeway sighed, putting on a suffering look as she took a last glance around the forest. "Perhaps my next relationship will involve someone slightly less unknown than the far reaches of the galaxy."

Jean-Luc chuckled as she retrieved her commbadge to call for transport. "I wish you the best of luck, Number One."


	4. Genesis

"Jean-Luc!" she called from the living room.

Leaving the washroom with his towel still around his neck, he must have looked panicked because Beverly began to laugh at him as soon as she saw him.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Beverly reached for his hand without getting up from the sofa. She had one arm wrapped around her belly and the other clutched a PADD. "It was more of a 'Jean-Luc this is wonderful' than a 'Jean-Luc rush over here right now.'"

He crouched next to her, kissing the firm curve of her belly. "Making fun of my concerns is very thoughtful of you."

"I wouldn't have to poke fun at your concerns if you saved them for next month." Beverly tugged his sleeve, pulling him closer to her. When he was near enough, he kissed her.

"Wesley's coming to visit. He just sent a request for transport and he's bringing a surprise guest. Someone who's always wanted to visit the _Enterprise_, watching his uncle on a mission."

Jean-Luc snatched the PADD from her hand and read Wesley's communiqué in surprise. "My brother agreed to let him travel across the quadrant?"

"Apparently so," Beverly reported, beaming. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Squeezing her hand, he released it to stroke her belly. Beneath her skin and muscle, their daughter slept. He could feel her, and he loved knowing she was there.

"We're on a simple survey mission along the demilitarised zone. I doubt it'll be that interesting."

Beverly smirked at him, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Wasn't everything exciting when you were sixteen?"

"He did just have another birthday, didn't he?" Jean-Luc shook his head, then addressed her belly instead of her. "You don't need to grow up as fast as your cousin. Feel free to take all the time you want."

"Wesley says René's already starting his application to the Academy. Down near the bottom."

"My brother must love that." He put the PADD aside and gave her his full attention. "I'll put in a request for guest quarters. Maybe I can get them a window."

"René would love that." Beverly's cool hand brushed across his cheek. "He loves everything about his nephew's ship."

"I would have been the same at his age." He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm before holding her hand close to his chest. "Starships were this incredible dream when I was a boy. I'd stay up late reading about them under the covers with an emergency light."

"Now you read reports about starships instead. You haven't grown up at all." Beverly watched him and a smile crept slowly over her face. She took her hand back from his grasp, stretching slowly. She narrowed her eyes a little when she shifted her weight and rolled onto her side. Her smile remained, even though her frustration crept into her face for a moment.

"Sore?" Jean-Luc ran his hand up around her hip and gently across her lower back.

"It's not bad," she promised. Her sigh when he dug his fingers into the taut muscles along her spine made him question her word but he didn't push her. Beverly told him when she was uncomfortable most of the time. "Better than yesterday." She kissed his forehead, then frowned at him sleepily. "I have to get up."

Getting to his feet, he lowered his hands to her. Beverly had put on a few more kilograms in the last month and she'd started to be more uncomfortable. She let him take a lot of her weight as she stood and her fingers dug deeply into his arms. Between them, her belly was huge and he held her as close as he could.

Beverly sighed contentedly, dropping her head to his chest. H lowered his chin to rest on her shoulder, the scent of her hair sweet and familiar. She rocked on her feet, shifting her weight in tiny increments until she'd worked out the kink in the base of her spine.

"Are you all right?"

Beverly nodded, but that familiar wrinkle was wedged into the normally smooth skin between her eyebrows. She was tired- he could see that in her eyes- and whether it was her hips, lower back or the ankle that had been bothering her, something hurt. "I'm fine."

"You shouldn't read so much late at night," he chided, guiding her slowly towards the bedroom. When Beverly was tired she would actually lean on him, and being able to support her was deeply important to him.

"Says the boy who used to read underneath his covers," she teased. Beverly kissed his cheek and disappeared into the washroom. Jean-Luc heard the sonic shower switch on and followed her in to finish shaving.

She grinned and tossed a damp wash cloth at him over the glass. "No peeking."

Jean-Luc couldn't help laughing back at her over the hum of the shower. "But I love seeing you naked."

"Just don't cut yourself while you're doing it." Beverly ran her fingers through her hair and let the sonic pulses lift the dirt out of it. Red gold tresses slipped through her fingers and he stopped running the razor along his jawline.

He set it down on the shelf in front of the mirror. Shaving could wait until she was done. Beverly's eyes were closed and her hands rested on her chest. He watched her smile gently warm her face and forgot about all the cares he had. Jean-Luc had her, and that was what mattered.

"If you can concentrate long enough to finish, I'll let you come in and join me," Beverly teased him, letting her hands drop away from her breasts to give him a better view.

Chuckling, he picked up the razor and made two quick swipes of the stubble on his neck. "I do have an excellent surgeon."

Beverly opened an eye towards him and the corner of her mouth quirked up. "That you do, but she'd rather spend the rest of the evening with her husband."

Shaking his head while he cleaned the blade, Jean-Luc got the last two patches on the skin of his jaw and checked his face in the mirror.

"By your left ear," Beverly suggested. "You miss that occasionally."

"Thank you," he replied lazily, feeling the wet, slick skin of his face up towards his ear. To his amusement, there was stubble there. Shaving it neatly away, he ran his fingers over the rest of his face until he was satisfied. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped up into the shower with her.

"You just left your uniform on the floor," Beverly chided him, pushing off the wall and wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him, filling his mind lust. He'd gone for long periods of time without sex before he'd become involved with her. Now it was hard to go a few days and luckily, once the nausea was over, Beverly's pregnancy had been easy enough to allow it.

"I'll get it later." Kissing down her neck, Jean-Luc felt her hands chase the pulses of the sonic shower down his bare back.

"You mean in the morning," she sighed, tilting her head to allow him better access to the long line of her neck. One of her hands slid down his stomach towards his cock. Though it had been soft, it began to harden within her gentle fingers. "I have other plans for you tonight."

Still kissing her as he shut off the shower and backed out of it, Jean-Luc kicked his uniform out of her way and let her slowly follow him towards the bed. The more traditional positions were impossible at the moment, and she pulled him towards her back as she lay down.

With his hand on her breast, Jean-Luc spooned up behind her. The firm curve of her butt pressed against his stomach and his thigh was against the back of hers. She bent her knee, slowly allowing him more access. She was wet to his fingers, and he heard the little hitch in her breath as he parted her labia. The hot, smooth flesh easily accepted his fingers as he thrust them up. Her gasp of pleasure stiffened his cock and she reached around to tease him harder.

Dancing his wet fingers across her clit, he kissed the back of her neck. Beverly's breathing quickened with his own and he felt her lower her head.

"Jean-Luc-" she moaned invitingly. "I-I want you."

Shifting down in the bed, he held his aching cock in his hand before he guided it in. The wet, tight heat of her swallowed him up. He sighed into the smooth skin of her back. Beverly's hand covered his on her breast and they kneaded it to her chest together. Changing the angle of his hips thrust him in deeper.

Thrusting into her from behind, their legs entwined, Jean-Luc found a slow, steady rhythm. Beverly chased his fingers away from her clit and drew his hand up to her breast. "Wait," she murmured. "I'll be done too quickly."

He kissed the back of her arm, then pulled her closer to him. He didn't need to tell her that there was no need for a marathon. She was beautiful, warm and soft, and just being within her was maddeningly intimate. She rocked back to meet him, letting him sink his fingers into the swollen flesh of her breasts. He loved the feel of them in his palms; she was terribly indulgent with him and let him play as long as he was gentle.

Beverly came softly, arching her back and sighing blissfully. Speeding up to catch her, Jean-Luc gasped, then came when she tightened around him and pulled him in. Releasing within her, he relaxed slowly, catching his breath as his heart slowed back down.

Beverly lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it sweetly. Running a finger down her nose, he tapped it once on on the tip and then sat up to kiss her properly. She rolled onto her back, cupping his face as she kissed him.

"There you are," she whispered, smiling.

"I love you," he replied, kissing her forehead sweetly.

When she was content, she returned to her side and he pulled the sheets over them both. His hand fit naturally between her breasts and her belly and Beverly set it there lovingly. Her fingers traced patterns along his arm, slowing as she relaxed even more.

"Are you asleep yet?" Her tone was playful, even light. She was often wide awake after making love and he'd attempted to adjust accordingly.

He nuzzled her shoulder. The soft, warm skin felt glorious against his cheek. "No."

She sighed contentedly and squeezed his wrist in response. "We need to start talking about delivery."

Jean-Luc wouldn't have naturally jumped to that subject from making love, but he was adaptable. He tapped his fingers lightly against her belly, then settled back down. "What do you need?"

"You, provided the _Enterprise_ will allow me." The quiet confidence in her voice was mixed with just enough desire that his heart melted in his chest.

"I have a first officer for that," he promised and he felt her giggle a little.

"Did you tell Kathryn that's why she's on the _Enterprise_?"

Jean-Luc mocked seriousness. "I believe it was in our initial interview. Commander Janeway, at some point my wife, whom I love beyond reason, will go into labour and the _Enterprise_ will be yours for all of that time and at least a week afterwards."

"I'm going to ask her," Beverly insisted, laughing. "And if you didn't use that exact wording..." She held his arms a little closer when she stopped. "I would rather have you with me."

"And I'll be there. Beverly, I wouldn't miss the birth of our daughter...not if there's anything I can do to be there."

"I know." She ran her hand reassuringly down his arm. "It's not glamourous and it's always a little messier than the emergency medical simulation."

"We have an excellent sonic shower."

Her chest trembled with soft laughter. "We do."

He could tell she was thinking by the way she continued to stroke his arm. Being a doctor, she had to reconcile what she knew medically with what she needed emotionally.

"You were there for Wesley."

Jean-Luc had been there, summoned by his best friend. Though his presence had been more about making up for Jack's last minute absence than due to any skill that would be useful during the trial of labour. He'd felt more like an observer than anyone who belonged. It had almost been easier when, after several hours of labour, Beverly had started ignoring everyone. Which, according to the staff around them, was entirely normal. He'd sat there, just within reach, and listened to her pant and moan and sink deeper into some other place. Only when she'd started pushing, had she seen him. Then the nurse, who knew Beverly from the Starfleet Medical, had explained to him how to support Beverly through pushing while the nurses guided Wesley down and out.

"I only held your hand." Then he'd held Wesley, telling the little boy about his father while he'd wished in the darkest part of his soul that the child was his. He'd loved Jack as a brother, but he'd loved Beverly too. Holding Wesley and being the one to take Jack's place at his birth had nearly destroyed him. He'd been terribly lucky that both of his friends had no idea.

Beverly rolled over and he shifted his legs so her belly could fit between them. Her cool thigh rested against his and Jean-Luc moved his hand to her chest. "Other than Wesley...you're the only thing I remember clearly."

"There was a time where you were somewhere else," Jean-Luc admitted. His memories of Wesley's birth had been all too vivid for many years, but now, awaiting his own child, they'd turned fuzzy.

"I can't say I remember much," she replied. Her forehead was up against his on the pillow, then she lifted her head to kiss him. Beverly's blue eyes were soft and old emotions had risen up near the surface. "I remember being terribly angry with Jack, and being stubborn. And you...you were-"

"Mostly superfluous."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Beverly shook her head quickly. The gratitude in her smile, even after all these years, really surprised him. "No, not at all. You gave me someone to talk to. A familiar voice to translate what the nurse was saying."

He rubbed the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "I never understood why you listened to me when you wouldn't listen to the nurses. I wasn't your husband."

"You were so calm."

"I was a mess…" When he started to laugh, she playfully slapped his shoulder.

Beverly sat up and kissed the spot she'd just smacked "Jean-Luc, I will never understand how you can project your calm so well and be so terrible at poker."

Wounded, he held her fingers captive against his chest. "I'm not terrible at poker."

"Worf saw through your bluff-"

"He's a master of interrogation."

"If I hadn't won the next hand, we would have had to name our daughter Maylota after Worf's favourite opera-"

"It goes well with Picard-"

Beverly was still laughing when she kissed him. She held the kiss a long time, surprising him with the intimacy of it. "I love you."

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "I love you too. Even if you ignore me for hours in labour and ruin my favourite uniform."

She rested her hand over his heart, letting her eyes close sleepily. "Your uniforms are identical."

"To you, perhaps," he teased. Jean-Luc spread his fingers over the smooth flesh of her belly, and their daughter moved gently beneath his hand.

"Don't wake her," Beverly begged, yawning. "She'll try to do somersaults all night and she's starting to run out of room down there."

"Shhhh," he whispered to their daughter. "Your mother needs to sleep. If you would like a Klingon name, we can discuss it later."

Beverly's lips quirked into a wry smile and he continued speaking.

"There are a number of Vulcan names I've always liked," Jean-Luc said, contemplating his choices. "Captain Saavik is an officer I admire very much. T'Vala. Sorinna-"

"You can't give her a Romulan name."

Kissing the tip of her nose, Jean-Luc smiled at her closed eyelids. "Is that a Howard tradition?"

"It has to be something other people can pronounce. Not Gwynhwyfar, Q'liqcurq, Yseult, Xiaoqiu, Yaxyezera or...Anne."

"Anne?"

"It's boring."

"Fair enough," he agreed, grinning at her. "Little One, your mother would like your name to be something simple-"

"Not boring."

Jean-Luc watched in amazement as the outline of a foot appeared in the skin near his hand. Beverly's eyebrows furrowed a little but her smile remained. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

Beverly squeezed his arm, remembering something important. "Remind me to give you the delivery texts for new fathers."

"Selar did, three days ago," he soothed. He'd read, then reread the entire text before he'd luckily been called to the bridge and spared his slight nausea at the diagrams and medical pictures. "She suggested I try a more advanced holographic simulation."

Beverly's eyelids fluttered open and concern took the half-smile from her face. "Nothing with complications," she ordered.

Jean-Luc recognised fear in the set of her lips and lifted her hand to his mouth to reassure her. "I don't believe she suggested anything with complications."

"The computer will run the probabilities of a complication and create one if the equations call for it," she paused, her eyes never leaving his. "I don't want you to worry."

"Beverly-"

"Some routine complications can be terrifying." The sudden brightness of her eyes was real fear and he immediately raised his hand to her cheek. "Haemorrhage-"

"Hey." Jean-Luc kissed her hand again, then her cheek and finally her forehead. "I'm not going to panic because I see a little blood in the holodeck. I love you and you have to trust me."

Her expression was still taut with concern and she wasn't letting it go. "I don't want you to worry about me. Childbirth is very rarely dangerous-"

"Shhhh...I'm not worried. I'm married to the best doctor I know, and she has a very excellent staff. It is the flagship after all." He kissed her again, this time leaving her face very close to his. His view of her blurred but her grip on his arm relaxed. "We'll be fine. Everything's going to be fine."

* * *

"I never make it to any of my physicals on time," Kathryn admitted ruefully as she pulled herself up on the biobed. "I think I missed two altogether on the _Billings_."

"Three," Beverly corrected, glaring at her mildly over her tricorder. "You won't be missing any on the _Enterprise_. We're the flagship; we set a higher standard."

"Of course, Doctor," Kathryn agreed, chagrinned. She folded her hands in her lap and tried to stare at the replicator in hopes of a cup of coffee. Would she be allowed one during her physical?

She'd almost forgotten and raced down from the bridge after leaving Worf in charge because Beverly was doing her physical personally. Standing up the chief medical officer, the best opportunity she had for a friend in a long time, and who just happened to be eight months pregnant and married to the captain, would be ill-advised to the point of banishing her to the doghouse. Kathryn knew that.

How Beverly managed to so efficiently, yet so genially, manage her sickbay was impressive. Her nurses actually smiled at her. Some of them even smiled at Kathryn, who was definitely out of her element. The _Billings _CMO had been a grumpy Tellarite holdover from a previous age who believed that anyone not from her department was just taking advantage of her begrudging good will by expecting her to heal them.

"What did you eat for breakfast?" Beverly asked, setting down her tricorder and folding her arms over the swell of her belly.

"I don't remember," Kathryn tried to dodge the question. She'd had two cups of coffee before she'd gotten Captain Picard's summons to his ready room. She'd been so busy on the bridge afterwards that she'd forgotten to eat anything else until lunch.

"Captain Picard will be away for the next few days, hunting Worf's renegade torpedo in a shuttlecraft," Beverly said, smiling even though she rolled her eyes. "Once a pilot..."

"Always a pilot," Kathryn agreed with a grin. "I didn't know he was such-"

"Amongst other numerous and charming character traits," Beverly replied. "My husband dreams of flying in a bygone era where shuttles were held together by string and the collective goodwill of their pilots." She tapped the controls above the bed and returned her hands to her belly. "My quarters, 0600."

Kathryn looked at her in mild confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"Since you seem to be so terrible about eating breakfast, while my husband is gone you'll eat with me," Beverly said calmly. The authority in her voice made it impossible to refuse. "I hope you like Vulcan."

One of Beverly's nurses, a petite, dark-haired woman with an engaging smile interrupted politely. "Doctor, Lieutenant Barclay is here-"

The skin of Beverly's forehead immediately creased in annoyance. "What does he have this time?"

"Rigelian Blood Fever, or Tilattaltican parasitic worms-" the nurse rolled her eyes and Kathryn tried not to smile. "His temperature is very slightly elevated. I believe he will listen best to you, Doctor."

"You're released, Kathryn, saved by the deathly ill," Beverly said, adding the last in a low tone, trying to preserve Barclay's dignity. "You'll be happy to know you're in excellent health."

Her sarcasm made the first officer smile. "Tomorrow then?"

"Don't be late," Beverly warned with a shake of her tricorder. "I wake up starving."

Kathryn smiled and nodded, slipping off the bed on her way towards the door. She caught a little of Beverly's patient explanation that no, Lieutenant Barclay was not dying, and that contrary to his worries, he was going to live a long healthy life. Still smiling as she headed back to the bridge, Kathryn decided that while serving with Jean-Luc Picard was an honour, serving with Doctor Picard was going to be fun.

* * *

"Is it just me, or does the security chief hate me already?" Kathryn asked, sinking into the chair across from the replicator. It was a little strange to have someone else in Jean-Luc's chair, but Beverly wanted the company. She'd been wanting company all day yesterday. Being in sickbay surrounded by her staff felt right, but as soon as she'd been alone in their quarters, she'd felt off.

"You did have to tell him that his new torpedo guidance system still isn't working, which meant that my husband had to go chasing a stray torpedo half-way across the sector." Beverly set down a plate of sausages in the middle of the table. They smelled particularly good, as did the bacon and the still faintly bloody guhlat steak from Suszhi Four. The pastries, which usually emerged from the replicator smelling delicious, weren't that interesting. Jean-Luc would have given her a hard time for avoiding the fruit and vegetables for meat and scrambled eggs but they smelled incredible.

Kathryn pulled the salmon off her bagel and ate it delicately. She'd used her fork at first, but Beverly didn't see the point for ceremony. After she demolished a piece of bacon, eating with her fingers, Kathryn gave up on her cutlery as well. It was more friendly that way.

"Is there more salmon?" Kathryn asked, looking over the table. Beverly passed across the plate and watched in amusement as Kathryn pulled her knees up into her chair and sat, with her hands wrapped around her knees. She peeled smoked salmon from the bagel it had come replicated on and set the bagel aside.

"The bread's off today, isn't it?" Beverly said. The sausages were perfectly cooked and the spiced, slightly sweet meat nearly melted in her mouth. "But these, these are excellent."

Kathryn lifted one from the serving plate and set it down on her own. She licked her fingers daintily clean. She seemed far less interested in the delicious sausage as she was in the salmon. When it was gone, she leapt to her feet, pushing the chair back. "I'll get more."

Beverly waved her hand towards the now empty plate that had held the guhlat steak. "More of that too, please."

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Kathryn regarded the plate. "You are hungry, aren't you?"

Smiling as Kathryn set the plate down in front of her, Beverly took a moment to stop chewing and nod. "I'm always hungry."

"Fair enough," she answered, smiling. "Might as well make the most of it while you're still pregnant."

Pointing to the coffee, Beverly said, "I thought you loved it."

"I do," Kathryn replied, eyeing the coffee in confusion. "It doesn't smell good today, does it?"

Beverly wiped her hands on a napkin, then reached for the coffee pot. It smelled rich, of earth and spice. The smell was fascinating, but she had no interest in drinking it. Just a few days ago, she remembered jealousy smelling Jean-Luc's coffee and stealing a sip when he wasn't looking. Then it was delicious, but now it seemed entirely dull.

"It doesn't smell bad. Just doesn't smell like something I'd like to drink," Beverly agreed, shrugging.

Across the table, Kathryn took a sip of her milk thoughtfully. "I think you're entirely right."

* * *

With the recovered torpedo in the back of the shuttlecraft, Jean-Luc flew back towards the rendezvous point. Data was realigning the targeting mechanism Worf had designed trying to diagnose what had gone wrong. It had been a quiet, pleasant trip. When he wasn't flying, Jean-Luc caught up on his reading while Data used the sensors to search for the torpedo.

The first night alone in a bunk without Beverly next to him had been strange. He'd grown used to her shifting positions or pulling the blankets on and off. He had no right to complain because he had no idea what it was like to be pregnant. She rarely complained , considering all the things he'd noticed that she could certainly mention. Her ankles weren't behaving and her lumbar vertebrae were a mess. Her breasts were swollen, apparently worse than when she'd carried Wesley, but she said very little.

Perhaps she'd use the break to bend Janeway's ear, or have one of her surprisingly long subspace talks with Lwaxana Troi. He'd caught the end of several, and the middle of some others. It seemed there were few subjects the ambassador was not ready to converse on. Beverly was happy, and maybe that, more than some sense of duty, made it easier for her to smile through her discomfort.

He'd missed hearing her voice this morning. Beverly's hair hadn't been tumbled over his chest and between his fingers when he woke up. She was beautiful, especially partially dressed and pulling on her socks. If Data had noticed how distracted his captain was, the android hadn't decided it was worth commenting on. Data was excellent company, even if he had asked several odd questions about parenthood over the past few days.

She'd been easing him into things as best she could. Many of their recent conversations included the baby's first few months of life and the extra demands it would place on both of them. Scheduling how they would drop her off and who would pick her up felt surreal. Discussing a more flexible use of his time was one thing; imagining coming back to their quarters to be with their daughter while Beverly ran a staff meeting was something else. Beverly's duties were just as important as his own, and in some respects, his were more flexible. Janeway could assume more responsibilities. He could delegate more. It was entirely possible that he could be a good husband, father and starship captain.

Wasn't it?

What would he do with a child? Yes, she would sleep much of the time at first. Was he going to watch her the whole time? Would she like him playing the flute? Could he read to her? Could he read reports while she cried and refused to sleep? Jean-Luc frequently functioned on less sleep than he should but parenting was a whole other level of concern. How quickly would he learn to change a diaper?

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He'd read three different articles about childbirth and the detailed account in the last one had left him a little queasy. Beverly understood what she was going to go through but it was new to him.

Luckily, Data was entirely content with long silences and Jean-Luc's wandering thoughts did nothing to offend the android.

"Captain," Data repeated in a polite attempt to draw his attention.

Jean-Luc finally heard him and looked over.

"Captain, the Enterprise is not at the rendezvous coordinates." Data's hands flew over the panel. "I have located it within sensor range at the edge of the asteroid field. It appears to be adrift."

"Adrift, Data?" His heart catapulted into the pit of his stomach.

Data turned his head sharply towards the captain. "Sir, I am reading only back-up power signatures and autonomic energy outputs. Several critical systems are running on secondary back-up far below specifications. The crew must be incapacitated in some fashion or they would have affected repairs."

"Life signs?" Beverly had to be all right. He had no room in his universe for that kind of error.

"There are life signs, but the sensor readings are highly distorted. I am unable to identify specific life forms." Data called up a diagram of the Enterprise and tried to pin down his readings.

Docking with a drifting target was much more complicated than a stationary one, but Jean-Luc was a well-qualified pilot. "Adjust our axial stabilizers to match the attitude and rotation rate of the Enterprise..."

Data complied quickly. They were that much closer to Beverly.

Jean-Luc took a breath and studied his ship, getting a feel for the drift. "I'm going to dock the shuttle manually."

* * *

The interior of the Enterprise smelled like the Oborisk jungle and sounded almost as foreboding. Strange calls echoed through the corridors, as if the ship had turned wild in their absence. Data took point, carefully pointing his flashlight ahead of them into the darkness.

"I recommend you allow me to lead, sir," Data said. Jean-Luc nodded his agreement as they listened to the strange animalistic cries echoing through the dark. Data's tricorder beeped as he scanned. The sound of the device was comforting in comparison with the cacophony around them.

"There are large concentrations of life signs in the arboretum, in the pool and in the cargo bays. I am reading vast differences in the internal conditions of the ship. The environmental controls were adjusted to a wide variety of settings before they went offline," Data read from his tricorder. A cool wind cut through the corridor from the left and mist swirled around their feet.

"Turbolifts?" Jean-Luc asked. It was a far reaching hope, but he did need to know.

Data shook his head sharply. "I am afraid not, Captain." He pulled the panel from the wall and peered down the Jefferies tube. Looking down the tube in the darkness, Jean-Luc shivered instinctually.

"I will continue to go first, sir," Data suggested, starting to crawl t the long vertical tunnel towards the bridge. Due to his android strength, he could continue to study the tricorder as they went without feeling the strain in his shoulder. Jean-Luc envied that.

They were halfway up deck four before he allowed himself to ask. "Can you track Doctor Picard's comm signal?"

The android paused on the ladders ahead of him and reprogrammed his tricorder. He cocked his head thoughtfully as the scan progressed. "Not from here, captain. Perhaps if I interface directly with a computer terminal on the bridge or in engineering."

Jean-Luc nodded and continued to climb. As much as he loved his wife and daughter, the ship had to come first. If he was fortunate, putting the ship to rights would lead to having Beverly safe again. He hadn't had her to risk last year. Though he'd loved her for decades, she had only been part of his life for the last six months. Sharing their meals, the quiet at the end of their days, and their bed was more intimate than the Jean-Luc of last year could ever have imagined having. No matter the fear solidly trapped in the pit of his stomach, he would never trade the love that created it. The extraordinary vulnerability of having a family was worth every stab of fear.

"Thank you, Data," he said, smiling up at him. Data wouldn't emotionally appreciate the gesture, but he'd understand its meaning.

Data continued scanning as they made their way up. "Many of the life signs I am reading are the size of large animals. All resemble the size of the average humanoid crewmember," Data continued as they climbed.

In the dark Jefferies tube, the sound of the creatures around them, none of which they'd actually seen, grew more ominous. Beverly was normally well equipped to defend herself, but pregnancy had made her more vulnerable. Jean-Luc couldn't chase the icy terror that held his stomach. His palms were? slowly covered in cold sweat as he climbed the metal rungs.

"I am unable to find evidence of anyone unaffected," Data reported, his vaguely apologetic tone suggesting there was something else.

"What have they been affected by, Data?" Somehow Jean-Luc asked the question calmly, even though his knees were stiff with worry.

"An airborne virus." Data paused and the quick tilt of his head gave away his concern. "I must inform you that you have also been affected. I believe it is only a matter of time before you will be unable to assist me in rectifying this situation."

Jean-Luc sighed heavily. There was no good news today. "Well then, Mr. Data, before I run away from you into the jungle, let's see what we can find on the bridge."

The bridge was a nightmare. Conduits hissed and smoked behind the panels. Controls flickered and as soon as they entered, Jean-Luc could smell the blood and the sickly-sweet scent of death. Ensign Cardhu was dead at the helm, his face savagely torn apart. His flesh had been rent by something with four vicious claws. Jean-Luc's suddenly traitorous stomach twisted as he realised the space between the wicked injuries matched the span of human fingers.

"Crewman Drier is also dead, sir," Data reported as he appeared behind him.

Data's silent motion and his lack of scent make Jean-Luc jump. "I'm all right," he promised. "Just unsettled."

"It is a disturbing situation, Captain. Your discomfort may indeed be warranted." Data was entirely stoic, even surrounded by death, and Jean-Luc was silently grateful for the android. Jean-Luc watched, trying desperately not to think about what kind of creature had killed Ensign Cardhu, as Data cleared the science station and activated it with an emergency power cell. He set the tricorder down and then sat in front of the console.

"I have interfaced with the main computer. From what we have seen so far, I believe we can infer that the virus sweeping the ship is a retrovirus that reactivates dormant strands of what is called 'junk' DNA. From the medical logs, it appears Dr. Picard made some progress identifying it before her notes ceased."

"Ceased?" Jean-Luc asked. He could hear the creatures on the deck below them and he could almost smell the predator that had taken Ensign Cardhu's life. It wasn't safe here and wherever Beverly was, she was in danger. His heart leapt to warp in his chest at the thought.

"Her notes become more and more fractured," Data replied. "Eventually she became de-evolved enough to no longer understand the virus she was trying to combat. I must get to sickbay."

Jean-Luc caught Data's hard shoulder as the android got to his feet. "Data, where is she?"

Data's yellow eyes could have been sympathetic. Jean-Luc allowed himself to take it as such. "Dr. Picard's comm signal was last detected in med lab three. We could begin our search there. However, Captain, I must remind you that delaying the development of a cure may result in the continued loss of life and the eventual destruction-"

Jean-Luc held up a hand. "Thank you, Data. Perhaps you could work on a cure in med lab three. If that's where Beverly was working-"

"I will be able to pick up where she left off," Data nodded once, agreeing. "A sensible compromise, sir."

* * *

They made their way back down towards sickbay. Jean-Luc hid more and more behind Data as they travelled. The sounds around them were insubstantial terrors and Jean-Luc's control was starting to fail him. He flicked his eyes back and forth as Data stopped.

The android bent to examine a patch of deck plating that had been melted. "It appears to be some kind of organic corrosive agent," Data said. "Fascinating."

"I don't think I need to remind you that it is inadvisable to remain here," Jean-Luc replied, surprised by the barely controlled thread of panic in his voice. "The med lab will be safer."

"Of course, sir."

A few decks later, Data wrenched the door open. The lab was dark and when they entered, they were greeted with snarling. Jean-Luc crouched low behind Data, using him as a shield. The snarling belonged to a vicious set of fangs in a canine mouth. The elongated snout was furred in red, in a shade Jean-Luc immediately recognised.

Data raised his hands, ready to protect the captain by force if necessary.

"No, Data," he murmured, "wait."

When she dropped to all fours, instead of snarling at them from her hind legs, he could see the familiar rounding of her belly. Sighing in relief that the virus hadn't sent her into early labour, or worse, Jean-Luc tried to remember if he knew anything about canines. He lowered his hands, hoping she'd somehow recognise the smell of him and hold off her attack. Beverly might be his wife, but her DNA was quickly mutating into a creature that would rather eat him than speak with him.

"Beverly," he said, keeping his voice calm even through his body thrummed with fear. "Hey, Beverly...it's me. Remember me?"

Her elongated, now pointed ears twitched at his voice and the dark tip of her nose moved closer to his hand. Her wicked teeth clicked, then bared and she growled menacingly. Panic surged through him and the searing thought of her jaws taking off his fingertips flashed through his mind. It took all the will Jean-Luc had left not to move.

Abruptly, the growling stopped. Beverly sniffed, then nuzzled his hand. He held perfectly still, then tentatively stroked the back of her head. The long locks of her hair were mixed in with thick, red fur.

"Data," he whispered back, counting on the android's superior hearing. "Can you scan the baby?"

Stroking Beverly's canine head kept her calm and she even backed from the door and allowed them both into the med lab. Jean-Luc could see the remnants of her work on the console behind them with his flashlight. She'd been working on a cure, right until she'd lost her mind to this illness. Beverly looked up at him, her strange and sadly dull blue eyes held him for a moment, then she retreated, still on all fours, to a nest of her lab coat, torn parts of the carpet, and pieces of other uniforms. Just as if she were still human, her pregnancy was exhausting her. Trying to scare them off had taken a lot of energy, and she lay down.

"Captain," Data's soft voice cut into Jean-Luc's concern. "The child is completely unaffected by the virus. While Dr. Picard's DNA is de-evolving to that of a large feral canine, your child's DNA has remained human. It is remarkable, sir. The extra immunity provided by Dr. Picard's amniotic fluid must have protected the foetus."

"Is that what she was working on as the basis of her cure?" Jean-Luc wondered, not lifting his eyes from Beverly.

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, Data checked over the lab equipment.

Beverly lifted her head, but when Jean-Luc showed no sign of worrying about Data, she lowered it again. To his surprise, she shifted when he knelt beside her, touching him with a paw that had once been her hand. An inhuman yelp was some attempt to communicate and he rubbed the back of her head. "Data will figure it out," he promised her, keeping his tone low and even. "You'll be fine, back to your old self in no time, I promise."

Whining, Beverly rolled a little in the other direction. He slowly scratched down her shoulder, then her chest and slowly reached for her belly. She looked at him in suspicion and he spoke gently. "She's all right, Beverly. The baby's all right. I bet she's getting heavy, isn't she? She's so close now. Just a few more weeks and we'll be holding her. I can't…" he shook his head, almost laughing in spite of everything. "I can't imagine what that will be like. Holding her in our hands, after she's been through so much to be here with us."

As long as he kept speaking, Beverly watched him serenely. The suspicion slowly faded from her eyes and she relaxed. Data worked behind him, reassembling the research Beverly had started. Jean-Luc distracted her, encouraging her to ignore Data. Judging by her new teeth, that was something they wanted.

"Captain, I require a sample of her amniotic fluid," Data announced. "It may be easiest to sedate her."

Beverly recoiled as Data approached, taking away the paw she'd had on Jean-Luc's leg.

"Do you know what dosage of sedative to use?" Jean-Luc asked, concerned. He'd read enough prenatal literature to know that sedatives were difficult to use safely on pregnant women. Data knew that, of course, but this was his wife. They couldn't be too careful.

"I do not," Data answered. "Perhaps she will allow you to do it. You seem to have some kind of rapport established."

"I believe they call it marriage, Data," Jean-Luc replied, more lightly than he would have usually. He needed the levity. It was something human he could cling to. "Give me the hypospray. I think she'll let me take a sample of her amniotic fluid."

With the hypo hidden from view in his sleeve, Jean-Luc settled back against the wall, letting her see him close his eyes for a moment or two. "You did so much for this cure," he commented gently. "You've gotten us this far, Beverly, we just need this to make it the rest of the way." He reached out, running his hand over her shoulders until she relaxed and let him continue down her back. Her spine no longer felt human, but he kept his revulsion out of his face. Beverly needed him to be calm if he was going to get her and the rest of the ship back.

"I've been reading my prenatal literature," he told her, moving his hand slowly down towards her belly. "I've made it through three of those padds you gave me. I have to admit the pictures are a little graphic, but I know we're going to be all right. As uncertain as I might be, I know this is something we'll be going through together, and that makes all the difference." He slipped his hand down further, resting it on her belly as he moved the hypospray into position. He leaned closer to her head, reminding himself that she'd be herself again soon, and she'd need him. Even though his mutating instincts screamed that he was too close to a dangerous predator, he trusted her. "I remember when Wesley was born. How young we both were, and how frightened you were that Jack couldn't be there. I don't know how we made it through that. I was so afraid I'd say the wrong thing, or forget where I was and admit how much I loved you."

Jean-Luc ran his left hand along her muzzle, toying with the softest part of her fur between her eyes. "And I love you." She looked up at him, trying to decide what to make of him. The hypospray sank into her flesh and started to fill with amniotic fluid. Beverly felt nothing, and he was able to slowly pull his hand back without her removing any of his fingers with her teeth.

"Here you are, Data." He held up the hypospray, but the android did not immediately take it.

"Captain," Data's voice had dropped to a whisper. "There are two large creatures in the corridor." He held his tricorder in front of him, paired with his phaser. "One of them has traces of human DNA, but the other appears to be-"

Something large and heavy crashed against the door in the med lab. Beverly's head snapped up and she bared her teeth again, suddenly anxious. The source of the crash, something far larger than Beverly, growled in frustration. Beverly's teeth closed on his arm and tugged him back. She hadn't bit hard enough to break the skin, and instead seemed determined to pull him away from the door. The growling turned into a howl, a deep, terrifying sound that cut through Jean-Luc like a laser scalpel. Beverly's ears were up and all the fur on the back of her neck was erect with fear. She began to growl back, a low hum of warning.

Data hurried to him, crouching down. "I believe the larger creature is Lieutenant Worf. He has de-evolved into some kind of primitive Klingon predator."

Jean-Luc winced. He couldn't pull his arm free of Beverly's mouth, nor could he get up while she held him. "Can he get through the door?" he wondered.

As if the Worf-creature had decided to answer the question for him, the metal of the door began to buckle. He was beating his way in and there was very little Data or Jean-Luc could do to stop him. Beverly's teeth sank in deeper, this time nearly breaking the skin of his arm through his uniform. He looked down at her, ready to try and talk her out of eating his arm. There was fear in her eyes and that made his stomach knot even tighter. She was dragging him towards the rear of the lab, a dark corner they'd ignored in their search for a cure.

One of the panels was loose. "Data, can we get out this way?"

The android moved like lightning across the room and scanned the opening. The instant he stood in front of it, something covered with golden-brown fur erupted out of the panel and knocked Data to the deck. He wrestled with it for a moment and Jean-Luc jumped in panic. Between Beverly, the Worf-creature breaking his way in through the door, and the new creature attacking Data, it was entirely possible he wouldn't survive long enough to turn into whatever it was that he was about to become. From his fear, Jean-Luc guessed he was not becoming a predator like his wife.

Data threw off the creature, who sat hissing in the corner on her haunches. Part of Jean-Luc's brain recognised his first officer through the fur and her sharply pointed ears.

"Data," he warned. "Be careful."

"She has realised that she is unable to bite through my skeletal supports," Data reported. "I believe Commander Janeway has become a large feline, possibly a primitive member of the felidae family."

"Why is she here?" Jean-Luc asked. Beverly had dropped his arm and was moving towards the hatch Janeway had just appeared from. "They're both predators. It doesn't make sense that they'd be together."

"Perhaps they have formed a pack. With an absence of others of their species, it is possible that they see each other as allies." Data returned to the console, eyeing the door as Worf continued to bang his way through. Beverly and Janeway exchanged sniffs and Beverly continued retreating. She caught Jean-Luc's arm again, pulling him after her.

Data's pale hands flew through his work. Aiming his phaser with his left hand, he continued to work with his right. Melting the door together would only buy them a few more seconds. "I suggest you follow them, Captain. It is no longer safe to be here. I will follow as soon as I can."

Beverly disappeared into the dark hell of the Jefferies tube first, leaving him staring down at Janeway's deep gold eyes. Her pupils had become slits, and fur covered most of her face. Her hands had become wide paws, complete with wicked looking claws. She glared at him, then licked her lips with a rounded pink tongue. Gulping and closing his eyes, he followed Beverly into the darkness behind the wall. They crawled along, him without a flashlight and entirely blind. Three times he ran into Beverly's long, furry tail and once she turned around to nuzzle him. He wondered if she could smell his fear.

His hearing was growing more acute. The sounds around him were becoming more distinct, and as he made sense of them, infinitely more terrifying. After an eternity of crawling, they stopped in a far, dark corner of the Jefferies tube, junction three-eight-one. Beverly circled the room, then collapsed down to rest. She wagged her tail feebly at him, and he took it as a sign they were safe for the moment.

Janeway took more convincing and she paced the tiny space. His sense of smell must have been growing more acute as he succumbed to the virus. He could tell Worf hadn't followed them and Jean-Luc knew the metallic scent was blood. Dark blood matted the fur on both of her forelegs and there were several gashes on her shoulders that had torn through her uniform. A particularly nasty-looking bite was healing slowly on her cheek. Perhaps she'd been fighting with the other predators, or the Worf-creature. The former security chief definitely seemed to be the most terrifying creature on board. He doubted she would allow him to do anything for her wounds. When she finally sat, she licked them methodically, like one of the cats who'd kept mice out of the storage room on the vineyard. She looked at him imperiously, obviously finding him more trouble than he was worth. Beverly's desire to keep him around won out, and a series of looks between them and a bark of Beverly's finished the subject.

The pair that reproduced was usually the head of the pack, at least in wolves. Perhaps that had some bearing here. Beverly put her head in his lap, letting him rub her head as she closed his eyes. Janeway observed the behaviour but continued to lick her wounds. Her guard was still up, and Jean-Luc couldn't help worrying that every sound around them was the Wolf-creature drawing in for the kill. He hadn't even seen it, but he knew it would be more frightening than his darkest imagining.

Beverly slept, and eventually even Janeway's eyes shut, even though she remained on guard. He was alone, surrounded by monsters, in a ship that wouldn't last more than a few more days before life support or something else was compromised. Jean-Luc crossed his arms over his chest, trying to find the strength to keep himself from giving up entirely. He'd never see his daughter or watch Beverly smile as she held her. Losing the two of them, the best parts of his extraordinary life, hurt. Jean-Luc closed his eyes, trying to focus on the positive. Data could find a way out of this. Even though the voice in the back of his head that argued that there was always hope fought him, he was losing faith. It was entirely up to Data, because there was nothing he could do.

Without the android, there was no hope.

His eyelids were heavy. He'd rest awhile, then he'd go find Data. He couldn't give up, even in the darkness, surrounded by the stench of blood and death.

But the darkness took him, and he knew no more.

* * *

Her head was spinning. Beverly wasn't that surprised; she'd been dizzy more than a few times since she'd become pregnant. Normally it happened when she was standing up. This time, she was not. Without opening her eyes, she knew from the sounds around her that she was in sickbay. A biobed was beneath her, and she could smell the faint lack of smell that the quarantine fields had. Other than being lightheaded, which was infinitely frustrating, her back hurt, and her left knee was sore from the way she'd been sleeping. Rolling to the other side took a great deal of effort, and she silently cursed herself for ever thinking being pregnant was a good idea.

A hand caught hers, wrapping her cool fingers in strong, warm ones. It was Jean-Luc, and she smiled, feeling his palm.

"You're back," she whispered, surprised by the dryness of her throat. It felt strange, as if she'd been yelling into a storm.

"I've been back awhile," Jean-Luc assured her. His voice was calm and even, just as it had been when he'd left. "You've been asleep."

Smiling again, she carefully opened one eye, then the other. He had a chair near her head, and she could see by his chest he was in uniform.. Her vision was thankfully in colour again. As she'd fallen victim to the retrovirus, she'd lost colour in her vision as her sense of smell had gone crazy. Now they both seemed back to normal, and the only side effect was the disconnect between her head and her body. "I'm still tired," she replied softly, letting her eyes close again. "How did you...?"

"Data," he told her. The hand on hers ran up her arm, squeezing the flesh on his way back down. "Data found your research and was able to assemble a cure using your amniotic fluid."

Beverly's eyes fluttered back open, and this time her vision was strong enough to find his face, not just his uniform. "Glad we could help."

He leaned down, kissing her cheek. "You saved the ship."

She shook her head and immediately regretted the motion. "Mutant-"

"Barclay's Protomorphosis Syndrome," Jean-Luc explained. "At least, that's what Dr. Selar and Data are intending to call it. A synthetic T-cell-"

She nodded, and that was just as bad as the shaking. "Dammit," she whispered. "A synthetic T-cell was what I gave Barclay-"

"Everything's fine now," he promised warmly. Trust Jean-Luc to focus on the outcome. "You're fine, and the baby shouldn't have even noticed."

The warmth of his touch on her belly made her smile return. "I hope not," Beverly agreed. "How would we explain mom turning into a-"

"Prehistoric cainid."

"Right," she sighed. Waving him down closer to her head, she managed to clumsily find his arm with her hand. "Why am I dizzy?"

His sweet smile almost made up for the fog filling her brain. "Your immune response was slightly suppressed. Data's cure was harder on you than the rest of us. Selar promised you're past the worst of it." He stroked her hair back from her cheek and kept the smile. "It took you a little longer than the rest of us to wake up from the cure. Interestingly enough, the type of creature each member of the crew turned into had an effect on their response to the cure. Those with faster metabolisms, like Mr. Worf, recovered faster, while those with slower metabolic rates, like Ensign Garcia who turned into a form of a sloth, are still in the process of reverting to their original state."

She could read it in a report later, but in this moment, Beverly needed to know. "Casualties?"

"Sixteen," he replied gently. "A far better number than I expected, under the circumstances."

Trying to sit up made her head explode into a billion points of light.

"Beverly," Jean-Luc eased her back down. "Be careful. Selar's been monitoring your blood pressure and she still finds it less than satisfactory."

She'd shut her eyes against the light, but nothing she did cleared the fog from her brain. "It's been less than satisfactory for the last six months. What makes today all that different?" Teasing him wouldn't get her anywhere, but she enjoyed doing it.

"Rest." Kissing her cheek, Jean-Luc settled again into his chair. It creaked as he sat. "Rest for my sake."

"Lie down, stay, good girl?" she taunted.

His laughter lightened the weight in her heart. "You were far more concerned that I obey you."

"As you should."

"Indeed."

She couldn't see him lean in to kiss her again, but she felt the weight shift as he leaned on the biobed. His mouth was warm and comforting against her cheek. He was still near her when she wondered, "When can I go home?"

"When your blood pressure is back up over 110 over 60, whatever that means."

Opening her eyes just in time to see him shrug, Beverly smirked at him. "You have no idea.'

"It sounds like a good number."

Her hand found his arm and stayed there. "It is a good number." She had no idea how long he'd been watching her, but he showed no signs of losing interest. She loved that about him. Beverly rubbed his knee in a slow circle. "I love you." Her tone was low enough not to carry, but she didn't mind anyone overhearing. She adored him, and the whole ship probably knew.

Jean-Luc kissed first her forehead, then her mouth. He lingered, letting her upper lip catch between both of his. "I love you too."

"Waiting isn't so bad," she decided. He allowed her to fidget with his uniform, and she could have kissed him again for his patience. "Who else is here?"

Glancing around the room to humour her, he did a quick inventory. "Ensign Lockehart is having a bone in her leg regenerated. Crewman Sudal is resting; he had internal injuries. I can see Crewman O'Surca and Lieutenant Xu Hwa. I'm not sure what their injuries are. Data has the bridge. Geordi has been complaining about how much he misses his regressed hearing. Lieutenant Worf has been apologising to Commander Janeway every time he sees her."

Beverly pulled back her arm, and he shifted his hands to hold hers. "That sounds like a story."

"Apparently," Jean-Luc looked down at her secretively, even dropping his voice, "he bit her."

Raising her eyebrows, she waved him down closer. "Was he trying to eat her or-"

His tone was light with humour. "Data believes the superficial nature of the wound implies that he was trying to mate." Jean-Luc sat back up, serenely dignified. "My number one goes red at the mention of it."

"Of course she does." She shook her head sympathetically and smiled in relief when her body didn't rebel from the motion. "Poor woman just hasn't had any luck with relationships. A plasma ghost, that terrible man on Earth and a Klingon-"

"Good relationships are hard to find." Jean-Luc made the comment off-hand, meaning little by it. The ease with which he'd accepted their relationship still filled her with awe.

"Very hard," she agreed. Her throat was scratchy again, but as he leaned down to kiss her, this time she knew exactly what the cause was.


	5. Journey's End

_Author's note: chapters are going to be shorter to make things easier on my beta. Hopefully they'll come out quicker that way_._ Thanks for your patience. :)_

* * *

Beverly toyed with the edge of her sleeve.

"It's not just Geordi. He's not talking to Data, Worf mentioned he was upset and apparently he's been rude to everyone, he's obviously avoiding us."

"Beverly." Running his hand through her hair helped distract her, but she would not yet be calmed. "We're two of the busiest people on the ship. If he can't find time to have dinner with us, we certainly can't blame him."

"He's been busy since he arrived on board?" she asked. "He's been on that planet-"

"Dorvan V."

"Dorvan V," Beverly repeated, rolling her eyes. "Four days and he hasn't even found time to send us a communiqué."

"Tuesday, you wanted to give him time to settle in. Wednesday, he wanted to go sightseeing with René, which you thought was a wonderful idea. Thursday, he said he was behind on an essay and you agreed that it was much more important. I thought it was very mature of him. He was very polite in his letter."

"Polite," she reminded him, dropping his wrist that she'd been fidgeting with angrily into his lap. "For Wesley that went way beyond _polite_. That was reserved. He had eighty questions a minute for me when he was little. He always had some science project to tell me about. Remember his tractor beam?"

Jean-Luc kissed her temple, resting his chin against her hair. That he remembered quite vividly. "He's a young man. He's been away and become independent. You're his mother-"

"And I'm smothering him by wanting him to spend time with us." She sighed and buried her forehead in his shoulder. Muttering in frustration, Beverly lifted her head and frowned. "Every time I get comfortable, my bladder insists I move."

Trying not to smile, he picked up his tea cup. "Almost done," he assured her. "Three more weeks."

"Easy for you to say," she said, frowning. "Your internal organs aren't flattened against your spine. Beverly turned her head towards him and held her hand up in the air.

Recognising his cue, Jean-Luc moved to set down his tea cup mid-sip. Helping Beverly up was more of a formality than a necessity, but she always appreciated it with a sweet smile that made giving up whatever he was doing entirely worthwhile.

She held on to him for a while longer than it took for her to drag herself up to her feet. Beverly rested her head on his shoulder, staring down at the prominent swell of her belly.

"Are we ready?"

Jean-Luc shook his head and kissed her cheek. "You had to use the toilet."

Rolling her eyes, she had to nod. "That's becoming a constant situation."

"Go, then we can talk about the baby until you have to go again." When Beverly turned and started walking slowly towards the toilet, he added, "Which should be at least five minutes."

"Maybe even ten," she called over her shoulder.

Jean-Luc chuckled to himself and picked up his tea cup again. His tea was not as hot as he preferred, but Beverly was the kind of distraction that was detrimental to the speed with which he drank his tea. He sipped slowly, letting the familiar taste calm him as his thoughts drifted back to the baby.

Beverly's warm-up contractions, something she assured him was perfectly normal, startled him more than they did her. As they occurred more frequently, and with greater intensity, his mind dwelled on what he'd be expected to do during labour. He was planning to run the simulation Beverly suggested and once he'd gotten over the shock of seeing a holographic representation of her, he thought he'd finally understand what it would be like.

* * *

"Computer," Kathryn asked the holodeck. "What program is Captain Picard running?"

"Captain Picard is participating in medical training simulation zero-three-nine. Labour and delivery of a human baby."

"Is the program locked?" she asked.

"Command or medical authorisation required."

That was interesting. Picard wasn't the type to leave an embarrassing holodeck program unlocked, and command authorisation left it open to her. She could have waited, or just tried to reach him again on the comm, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"Authorisation, Janeway-pi-one-one-zero, acknowledge."

"Authorisation accepted. Enter when ready."

The holodeck doors hissed opened as she approached. Kathryn thought she'd walk into a version of Starfleet Medical, where her delivery simulation had been set. Instead, this simulation was set on the _Enterprise_-D. This sickbay was familiar, as were the sounds of the Enterprise, even down to the simulated hum of the deck plating. The usual staff bustled around, none too hurried. Kathryn stood in the middle, trying to make sure she wasn't missing the captain. A baby wouldn't be born in the main sickbay, which was too exposed. Birth was something intimate.

When she rounded the corner into the private examination rooms, Kathryn finally found him. The captain stood at the foot of the biobed, uniform jacket forgotten on a hook on the wall. Beads of sweat clung to the back of his head, and his grey undershirt was also stained with sweat. A holographic doctor and one of the holographic nurses assisted the labouring woman blocked from view by the captain.

Not sure if she should make her presence known or wait for him to notice her, Kathryn accidentally triggered a reset of the program.

"Partner detected. Resetting program."

The figures disappeared, and then sickbay disappeared entirely. The walls and ceiling faded away into the yellow and black grid of the holodeck before the computer began to rebuild. Walls, ceiling and windows coalesced out of the aether to become Ten Forward. Starlines drifted past the windows and holographic characters appeared around them to fill in the chairs and tables.

Done with the surroundings, the program altered her physically. With the reset of the program, Kathryn had inexplicably gained twenty kilos. She'd never been pregnant, but in the simulation, suddenly she was.

The computer had changed her uniform to a maternity uniform, and her swollen holographic belly was covered in red and black fabric. Fascinated, she rested her hands on it, feeling for the edges. The fabric of her uniform ran into the fabric of the belly the program had created for her. She'd had a few strange things happen in the holodeck, but this took the photonic cake. Odder still was the way she could feel her hands on her stomach, as if she were touching a part of her, even though the holographic facsimile was in between and she couldn't possibly...but she could. She did.

Picard turned quickly, as startled as she had been by the reset. He turned, crossing the slight distance between them and taking her by both elbows. The sudden connection didn't make any sense. Picard wasn't usually…hell, he hadn't ever been demonstrative.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear the comm-" his polite apology was cut off by her gasp of pain and surprise.

It hurt.

The facsimile expansion of her belly that couldn't possibly exist contracted down, and she felt it as if it were her own muscles. It wasn't quite pain, but it was a dull, demanding discomfort that stole her breath and would have taken her balance as well if it wasn't for Picard's strong hands on her arms. He held her up, firm and steady.

"It doesn't give you much warning," he explained. "Computer, halt simulation."

The pain, if she could call it that, vanished immediately. However, Kathryn wasn't lucky enough to lose the weight over her hips or the growing backache her sudden weight gain had produced.

"Someone programmed the biofeedback a little too well in this one," she muttered when she could breathe again.

"My wife," he excused. "With Mr. Data's assistance. Beverly thought Starfleet Medical's version needed a few 'improvements.' I've only been in here alone, I didn't know what the program did to the partner-" he paused and led her to the closest chair. "Forgive me. I should have heard the comm."

Kathryn glanced down at the holographic belly that covered all of her lap and felt as real as the nose on her face. "If it's all that realistic, it's no wonder you didn't."

Picard was smiling, something that entirely destroyed the idea of him as stern. "I'm afraid together Beverly and Data were very thorough." He patted the back of her hand; his fingers were damp with sweat and fluids Kathryn didn't want to be too specific about. "Computer, reset to training program. Non-participant."

Her belly vanished and she could breathe again. Kathryn's first breath was fast and enough of a gasp that she choked on it. Coughing to clear her throat, she nodded to Picard that she was all right.

His sympathetic smile was tired but entirely understanding. Smudges of holographic blood tinged his thin grey undershirt. More was on his arms, and he'd rubbed some onto his neck from his hands. Kathryn kept her chair and he crouched comfortably in front of her.

"How long have you been in here?"

"An hour or so."

He stood and offered her a hand up to her feet. When she looked at it, he paused to wipe it against his shirt before he offered it again. Tears may have dried on his face. Kathryn thought she could see the marks. 'Thorough' was an understatement for Data and Beverly's additions.

"Are you all right?"

Picard smiled wearily. "Fine. I'm fine. I'm afraid I got a little caught up."

Kathryn grabbed his jacket from the wall but held onto it as she looked again at the mess the program had made of him. "Taking this seriously, aren't you?"

His smile in response had a sincerity to it that warmed her chest. "I've spent more time on this than I did the Kobyashi Maru. I only took that once."

She pretended to be mortified. "You didn't-" Kathryn dropped her voice to a whisper as they walked towards the door of the holodeck, currently disguised as the door leading out of sickbay.

"I didn't?"

"Cheat," she finished, still whispering. "You didn't cheat, did you?"

Jean-Luc laughed and shook his head slowly. "No, I didn't cheat. I died, foolishly and far more rashly than I should have."

"You tried to be a hero?" Pausing in front of the door, Kathryn smirked at him.

"And failed spectacularly, I assure you." The captain adopted his more formal demeanor. "What can I do for you Number One?"

"Other than keep me on my feet-"

"That first contraction is cruelly close to the start of the program," he interrupted. His eyes twinkled; he knew he was caught. "I may have seen it enough to know."

"Admiral Nechayev would like you to join her on the planet at your convenience, Captain," Kathryn replied to the question of a few moments ago. Handing him his uniform jacket, she watched as he winced and put it on over his outfit. "You might want to shower."

"Wise advice, commander." Picard stepped out into the corridor and saved the program.

Following him to the turbolift, she waited for it to shut them in before she gave in to her curiosity.

"Who's the woman?"

"Hmm?" Picard left his thoughts and turned to her in the lift. "I don't follow."

"The woman in labour, in your program."

He dropped his hand from his chin and met her gaze. His hazel eyes, normally calm and collected, were full of a vulnerability she'd never seen. "The first time I ran it, Beverly programmed in a facsimile of herself."

"That must have been disconcerting." Kathryn tried to imagine walking into the holodeck to be confronted by someone she cared about in labour. That was worse than the holodeck impregnating her.

"Mr. Data's skills as a holographic designer are truly legendary. Programmers everywhere are lucky he has other duties." He met her eyes again and cleared his throat shyly. "A simulation of my wife was a little too realistic. Now she's simply called Gaia, though Beverly left most of her physical features intact."

"Does she-" maybe she shouldn't be asking, "-respond to you?"

"The person running the program is her partner," Picard explained gently. "She responds to me as if I were. Unless, apparently, if a woman joins me."

Kathryn winced and crossed her arms over her chest. The memory of the weight of her fake pregnancy, however brief, would cling to her for a long time. "That was highly disconcerting."

He very gently patted her shoulder, smiling wistfully. "I do apologise, Number One. I had no idea it would do that to you when you walked in."

"Well," Kathryn said, shuddering and staring down at her stomach to make sure it was still flat. "Don't tell your wife you got me knocked up on the holodeck."

He began to chuckle, then nodded discreetly. "You have a deal."

* * *

"You've been on the _Enterprise_ for five days and we haven't even seen you."

Beverly tried not to snap at her son. René had managed to have breakfast with his uncle that morning, and the young man's exuberance and excitement had made Wesley's recalcitrance that much more frustrating.

"René's been to see us several times."

"René doesn't have essays and exams hanging over his head. He's sixteen! He's enjoying himself, like a sixteen-year-old should be."

When had he become so bitter? Beverly paced, resting both hands on the small of her back. It ached today and no changing of the movement of her hips, lying down, or standing had banished it. She shouldn't have been so angry, yet it refused to dissipate.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He softened his tone. "It meant nothing. He's having a wonderful time. René can't get enough of the _Enterprise_." Wesley stopped staring at his feet and lifted his gaze to her. "How is-" he faltered.

Beverly sighed, letting her anger out of her chest before it set off more of those damn Braxton-Hicks contractions. Ending her pacing, she sank down in the chair by the door. Sitting with her back straight helped a little, but nothing would ease her discomfort until Jean-Luc rubbed the tension out.

"She's fine." Running her hands slowly over her belly, she smiled for Wesley's benefit. "Getting bigger every day."

"And the captain?" He finally relaxed a little.

Maybe Wesley knew that was her weakness. Thinking of Jean-Luc, Beverly had to smile. He'd been exceptional, patient and loving, no matter how terrible her mood or how many times she rose in the night for the toilet. For a man who had spent so much time a bachelor, she couldn't have asked for a more caring husband. Her pause must have given some of her feelings away, because even through his anger, Wesley smiled.

"I love him; he'll be an excellent father."

"And she'll grow up on the ship with you both."

He rested his hands on his knees, just as his father had. Unlike Jack, who lived in the moment, Wesley's thoughts were light years away.

"Wes-"

What could she say? That if things had been different, his father would have been with him? If Starfleet had _Galaxy_-class starships twenty years ago, Wesley would have grown up with both of his parents. She couldn't guess if that meant he would have had more time with Jack, or if it would have meant that she and Wes would have buried Jack together in space.

He stopped her from needing to finish. "Mom, I'm glad. I'm really glad you have someone. I like Captain Picard. His family's great. René's a lot of fun to hang out with."

Wesley stiffened up, putting that wall back between them. Whatever was bothering him, he wasn't going to tell her what it was, at least, not yet.

Beverly left her chair, slowly crossed Wesley's quarters and sat down next to him on the sofa. It was impossible to do so gracefully and he smiled a little when she frowned and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sure which of you is worse. I thought you were terribly heavy and you completely ruined my balance."

Wesley started to smile a little. "And she doesn't?"

Beverly sighed melodramatically. "She does. I can't even say she's any better or worse than you because she and I aren't done yet." Grabbing his shoulder, she squeezed it tightly. "Of course, neither are we, but, thankfully you're a bit more independent than she-"

Wesley struggled for a moment. "You can call her my sister. It's okay. Half-sister sounds stupid and…"

He stumbled on what he was trying to say. Taking a deep breath, he finished haltingly, "I guess Captain Picard's the closest person I have to a dad now. Not that I...and dad is still dad but-"

Embracing him as tightly as she could over the swell of her belly, Beverly held him as her eyes started to sting. The stinging quickly gave way to tears and she let them fall onto his shoulder.

"Your father will always be your father. He loved you very much and nothing can change that. Jean-Luc won't be him; he can't. He is someone who cares very deeply for you."

Wesley stroked her back clumsily. "And you. He loves you."

Beverly released him, but held on to his shoulders. He was growing up so quickly. A few years ago he was pushing her to go on dates and now he understood how much Jean-Luc meant to her. He had a good heart, she'd always known that.

"Wesley, when you're ready...find someone who loves you that way. Don't settle for anything less," she ordered, slipping into her old mom voice she rarely used.

"I don't know how I'm going to meet anyone having dinner with you."

She saw the agreement in his eyes. He understood as much as he could, being so young.

Beverly cupped his cheek in her hand. "You'll manage, somehow."

* * *

"So you could beam them all up?" René asked, peering over his uncle's hands to look at the transporter console. "Everyone on the planet, all at once?"

Jean-Luc grinned. "Well, not all at once. We can beam up most of a small colony if we use the cargo transporters as well."

"Which are slower but still perfectly safe for humanoid transport. Can we see the cargo bays?"

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow but nodded. "They're full of cargo."

"Well, on the _Enterprise_-D, even cargo is important. We are on the flagship of the Federation, after all." René straightened his jacket in a neat imitation of his uncle.

"Quite right." Jean-Luc pointing René towards the door. "However, we have a dinner engagement. Your tour of the cargo bays may have to wait until afterwards and be conducted by Mr. Data."

Rene shook his head thoughtfully. "I haven't been able to think of a question Data can't answer. I've been trying for the last few days, but so far I've got nothing."

The young man's dedication made Jean-Luc smile all the more. "It is unlikely you'll come up with anything."

"Nothing's impossible. Even for a positronic net." He headed into the turbolift ahead of Jean-Luc. He glanced down at his feet for a moment or two, then looked up shyly.

"Are you allowed to sponsor my application to the Academy? Is there a conflict of interest because we're related? I thought about asking Data, but he and Geordi said I need a command level officer, and then I thought Captain Riker-"

"Starfleet Academy will not turn down your application because it's been sponsored by your uncle." Sighing, Jean-Luc tried to decide how much trouble he was in with Robert for encouraging René's dreams of the Academy. "Have you discussed this with your father?"

René frowned a little and looking down at the floor. "A few times. Maman thinks it could be great. I'd see the galaxy, meet new people, new species, and it's what I've wanted to do since I was eight. She gets that. My father thinks I should mind the vineyard as Picards have always done, as he did and his father did, et cetera, et cetera."

Jean-Luc knew that speech; he'd heard it from his own father several times. They paused in front of his quarters. "Is that something you considered? Running the vineyard, I mean."

"I'm no good at growing anything," René replied sheepishly. "I can do the wine making part, that's chemistry. It's kind of fun, but I don't know how to pick vines and I trim them wrong. Besides, I've lived in one place my whole life. I'd love to see somewhere else."

Laughing gently, Jean-Luc led René into the quarters he shared with Beverly. "All sixteen years."

René crossed his arms over his chest and his expression lit with sincerity. "I want to go to the Academy. That's all I want. I think that's all I've ever wanted. How does a village in France compare to a starship?"

"Depends on who's looking at it and when one is looking." Wondering if he was seeing another version of himself in his nephew, he smiled as Beverly emerged from the bedroom.

She kissed his cheek when she moved to stand next to him. Resting his hand on her belly, he kissed her back as their daughter moved against his hand. She was still in uniform and as much as she hated her maternity uniform, Jean-Luc thought her legs looked incredible.

Beverly furrowed her eyebrows a little. "I thought Wesley was with you. Have you seen him?"

René looked up helpfully. "He was down on the planet. He's been talking to a man who lives down there. Something about a vision quest."

"A vision quest?" Beverly raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "He didn't say anything about that."

The latter was directed towards him and Jean-Luc shrugged. "I didn't know that was something he was interested in."

"Wes probably lost track of time." René looked from Beverly to Jean-Luc and then diplomatically changed the subject. "What's for dinner?"

Beverly swallowed her concern and rested her forehead against his cheek for a moment. She sighed, entwining her fingers into his, then turned to René with as much of a smile as she could muster.

"Why don't you choose? I hear you've been having fun with the replicators."

"We don't have one." Crossing to the replicator, René began to scroll through the list of options. "Maman would like one but papa always says his mother would turn in her grave if she knew we had one of those in the house."

Beverly held Jean-Luc's hand, keeping his fingers in hers even as they sat down on the table. He reached across with his free hand and lifted her chin. With René there, he couldn't say much to comfort her, but holding her gaze was enough.

"We'll see him tomorrow. A vision quest seems like the kind of thing where he could lose track of time."

"I know," Beverly said, nodding weakly. "I know."

René began setting plates on the table. He waited for them to acknowledge him before he spoke. "I hope you like this. Wesley and I had it on the _Ishtar _on the way over. Apparently Admiral Nechayev likes it. We didn't talk to her, because she's an admiral, but her chief of security ate with us a few times. She's Andorian, married to three spouses, two of them were on board. Can you imagine that?"

* * *

His quarters were empty: all of his clothing was gone and what little belongings he'd brought with him had been taken. Wesley Crusher's commbadge sat on the table, next to the cadet insignia from his uniform and a formal letter withdrawing from the academy.

Worf handed her the PADD from the bed. "He left this for Doctor Picard and the captain."

Kathryn wrapped her hands around it and held the PADD to her chest. This was a particularly inauspicious way to start her morning and the rest of the day promised to be full of even more disappointments. She never could trust a day with Cardassians on board.

Worf's contempt for the Cardassians snuck into his deep voice. "The treaty became effective at 0900 this morning. Wesley is on a planet no longer under Federation control."

Kathryn sighed, letting her arms fall to her sides. "Wesley knew what he was doing. He made no attempt to hide his disdain for the treaty."

"It is a poor treaty, Commander."

Worf picked up Wesley's communicator and insignia from the glass table. The commbadge would be reprogrammed, and the insignia recycled. Wesley's life as a Starfleet officer was over.

"Any compromise with the Cardassians gives them a chance to hold a knife to our throat." Kathryn paused and steeled herself. She was acutely aware what the Cardassians were capable of. The war had been one of the worst in recent Federation history and the skirmishes afterwards had a nasty habit of becoming bloody. Starfleet officers disappeared all too often and were frequently never seen again.

"The captain knows that," she continued. "He knows that better than most."

She and Worf stopped in the hall and sealed Wesley's quarters. The computer erased his name from the records.

Kathryn frowned. "But he has his orders, we all do."

Worf nodded once, then fell in step behind her. "You will inform Doctor Picard?"

Kathryn tapped her finger on the centre of her forehead. That was a conversation she was already dreading. How was anyone supposed to deliver that kind of news to a parent? From what she knew of Wesley, he'd been a shining example of a future Starfleet officer, and now he wasn't even living in Federation space. At twenty-two, he had every right to make his own choices, but this wasn't one she understood.

"I will."

* * *

Beverly set down her tea and called up the next round of inventory requests. Doing paperwork was less than intellectually stimulating, but it kept her off her feet, and that kept her staff from hovering. Relaxing into it as she went, she found a steady rhythm as she scrolled through. Her sickbay had the odd habit of going through some equipment twice as fast as sector supply thought they should. Sector supply made good attempts to predict what galaxy-class starships would go through, and it seemed to be fairly accurate. Unless that ship was the _Enterprise_, where the rules of the universe didn't always apply.

Footsteps outside her office made her lift her head. Beverly began to smile, expecting Alyssa and more paperwork, but instead of her nurse, Kathryn stood there. Stiffly approaching the desk, the first officer stood behind the chair instead of taking it.

Studying her curiously, Beverly waved at the chair. "There's nothing wrong with it, Kathryn."

When she sat, Kathryn rested her hands in her lap, holding a PADD tightly. Her expression was neutral, and she was making an effort to hide it, but something was bothering her.

"Wesley didn't show up for his meeting with Commander La Forge."

Kathryn's lips were tight and Beverly wondered if Wesley had been detained for some reason. He'd never committed a crime before, at least, not one that made any sense if she counted the Edo and their bizarre criminal justice system.

"When Lieutenant Worf and I checked his quarters, we found them empty. All his belongings are gone. Wesley has sent a communiqué to the Academy and resigned his position. Lieutenant Worf and I found this-"

Beverly took the PADD mutely from Kathryn's outstretched hand. "He left me a note?" Her voice was far more bitter than she intended. "Twenty-two years, and he leaves his mother a note."

"I'm sorry, Beverly." Kathryn blue eyes were far softer than was required and her genuine empathy made it that much harder to keep up her facade.

Beverly steeled herself and glanced over the note. Not even sure which emotion she was burying, she forced all the heat in her chest down. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from frowning.

Wesley's note was brief and loving but it didn't make any sense. "He needs to find his way?" she read aloud, asking Kathryn even though she couldn't possibly know. "He saw something in a vision?"

"I don't know."

Kathryn shook her head. She reached across the desk, offering Beverly her hand.

Beverly dropped the PADD to the desk. She appreciated the gesture but she couldn't take it. She couldn't. Rationalising made it a little easier and it turned the sick emptiness in her stomach into something cold.

"He's an adult, of course, he can do what he wants. Why this planet?"

"Beverly-" Kathryn interrupted instead of answering. "Worf went to the bridge to scan for him; see if he can reach him."

"And then what? We beam him back? I follow him through the streets until he gives me a reason why he's throwing his life away?" She shut her eyes hard, forcing the tears back.

"He doesn't have to be in Starfleet. I've never asked him to be in Starfleet. That's what he wanted, what he chose, and he can choose something else. He can be a chef or a carpenter or a naked blue dancer for all I care."

Pushing her chair back and getting to her feet, Beverly circled the desk. She had to get to the bridge. Jean-Luc would know what to do. The first officer stood to meet her on the other side of her desk.

"I'm his mother. He could have told me."

"He tried. He didn't want to hurt you."

Beverly protested, raising her hands defensively. "I'm not hurt. I'm not hurt. My son couldn't find the time to say good bye, but I'm not hurt."

Leaning one hand on her desk, she straightened up. Cardassians in orbit or not, Dorvan V was still a safe planet. She could beam down and find him.

"He didn't let me tell him I loved him." Beverly's throat was so tight she wasn't even sure she was speaking aloud.

Kathryn reached for her shoulder, trying to comfort her. "He knows that. You're a great mom."

"Why this planet?"

"I don't know."

"Who is this man he talks about? His guide?"

"I don't know."

"Why not Earth or Mars or Vulcan or Risa!"

"Beverly-" Jean-Luc's voice cut through Beverly's argument as it grew in pitch. Kathryn backed away, squeezing her arm once more before she left the two of them alone.

"Wesley's gone."

Jean-Luc nodded and took both of her arms into his. "I know." He ran his hand up to cup her cheek. "Mr. Worf told me."

"We have to get down there, I have to talk to him." Beverly dragged him towards the door of her office.

"Beverly." He caught her arm, shaking his head. "We can't."

"We can't?" she spat the question. "_Now_ you're getting overprotective? I'm pregnant, not a-"

His left hand landed on her belly, soothing her even though she wanted to swat it away and push past him.

"This isn't about the baby. Beverly, we signed a treaty with the Cardassians this morning," Jean-Luc reminded her gently. "Dorvan V isn't Federation territory any more. I've already talked to Admiral Nechayev and she'll make inquiries with the diplomatic corp. We can't just beam down there and look for him."

"What are you-" she stopped herself before he gave her that look. "Wesley's still-"

He sat down on the edge of her desk, taking her hands in his. "Everyone on that planet this afternoon renounced their citizenship under the terms of the treaty. Wesley knew that."

"And that's why he just left me a note? Because he wanted to be on the other side of the Cardassian border? It's not enough that he quit the Academy, he left the Federation too?"

"Beverly," he repeated her name to calm her. "Admiral Nechayev will talk to our ambassadors."

"There has to be something, humanitarian aid, some loophole-" She pleaded, digging her fingers into his shoulder. "He didn't say goodbye."

"I know."

Beverly shook her head slowly, hating him for being so calm even as she loved him for it. "I want to say goodbye."

When he was out of answers, he hugged her. Jean-Luc's cheek rested against her ear and his hand moved slowly back and forth over her shoulders. He didn't have an explanation, maybe Wesley didn't either; maybe it wouldn't be any easier if she had one.


	6. Bloodlines

"I understand your concern," Admiral Nechayev said, her tone cool and reserved. "However, Captain, you must understand that the retrieval of an adult who has decided to voluntarily renounce his Federation citizenship is not something Starfleet can make a priority."

Jean-Luc knew her well enough know to surmise that she was frustrated with the situation, and she had no issue making sure he knew it. Not that he minded. Past the visceral sense of failure for not seeing how troubled Wesley was, he could stand up to her.

"Especially if he's my son, Admiral." The short little word slipped away from him before he realised he'd said it: not step-son but _son_. Jean-Luc hadn't said it in front of Beverly, he couldn't be sure that he would any time soon, but he'd crossed the line in his own heart. He loved Wesley; he was part of Beverly and Jack. He was also a young man who needed a father.

"Even if he's your son, Picard." Nechayev leaned further across his desk, resting her hands on the glass. "I am not heartless. I know how much you care for this young man, and how much you have invested in his development. He once showed great promise as a Starfleet officer. I'm afraid that is a choice he is no longer interested in pursuing. We must respect that."

"I'm not asking that we drag him home in irons." Sighing, he looked across at the admiral over his desk. "Beverly would like a chance to say good-bye. I don't have the authority to negotiate with Cardassian High Command, but-"

"I do." Nechayev waved him off as she finished his thought. "I can't tell the Cardassians that a mother needs to say good bye to her son. I'll be politely sneered off the comm channel."

One corner of his mouth turned up as he began to construct the idea; Jean-Luc smiled at her.

"What about a humanitarian mission? The colonies we have just signed over to the Cardassians will need supplies. We have given them up but the Cardassians won't feel obligated to provide them with medical supplies. The _Enterprise_ is already out here. We have more than enough to supply a few colonies."

She pondered the idea. "And your wife is a doctor," Nechayev replied. "I do hope you won't be letting your pregnant wife beam down alone, Captain."

Jean-Luc met her gaze and slowly began to realise she was more on his side than he'd initially suspected.

"I had not intended to."

"Good." Nechayev pushed off the desk let her hands rest at her sides. "I will contact the Federation Diplomatic Corp and ask that one of their ambassadors will be dispatched. That ambassador will be in charge of making contact with each of the former Federation colonies and assessing their needs."

He set down his teacup and sat up straight in his chair. Even with the strongest treaties in the galaxy, the Cardassians were not to be trusted. He knew that in the pit of his stomach and he needed Nechayev to know that too.

"You are aware that this ambassador will be exposed to potential kidnapping, interrogation and whatever else the Cardassians might consider fair reprisal for something they will possibly consider a spy operation."

She held his gaze again; this time sympathy passed through her dark eyes. She would have read the reports about his kidnapping last year and though a report could never do his experiences justice, she would then an idea of what Gul Moset had put him through. She'd been through the war with the Cardassians. She understood.

"I have an idea who might be willing to volunteer," Nechayev said. "Our relationship may have been frequently strained, Picard, but I'd like you to believe that I'm not entirely incapable of making friends."

Jean-Luc nodded, sharing her faint smile. It was entirely possible that under better circumstances they could have been friends. She was one of the more creative Starfleet admirals, and that went a long way towards earning his respect.

"Thank you, Admiral. I shall look forward to meeting the ambassador."

"I'm sure she'll be pleased to see you again as well," she replied. Nodding once, she began to take her leave. Nechayev paused at the doorway and turned back. A faint smile flashed across her face again.

"Thank you for the crepes. Your raspberry sauce was excellent."

He stood up, straightening his jacket. Meeting her at the door, he risked a real smile. "My new counselor suggested it. I'll pass along your compliments."

"Andorians can be very dedicated epicures," Nechayev replied. "I'm glad he's settling in."

"Everyone does, eventually," he said, following her to the turbolift. He'd never escorted her all the way down to the transporter room, but she'd never been this helpful before. "Commander Janeway is proving to be an excellent first officer."

"I did not expect her to take Riker's promotion over her lightly." Standing at his side as the turbolift whisked them down, she lowered part of her guard. "It is not easy to know the stuck-up Starfleet brass don't think you're ready for the big chair."

"Are any of us really ready?" Jean-Luc clasped his hands behind his back and followed Nechayev through the corridor towards transporter room four. "Most visitors choose transporter room two because it is closest to the bridge."

The corridor curved with the hull of the Enterprise and was mostly deserted.

Necheyev was still smiling, even content. "I've always had a weakness for transporter room four. I'm partial to the lines of Galaxy-class ships. There's a special artistry to them. More curves than we usually see on Starfleet ships."

Touched by her affection for the ship, he relaxed. "If you walk down to transporter room four, the corridor conforms to the secondary hull," Jean-Luc said. "Deck thirteen runs along the underside of the saucer section."

"When you reach the bottom, you have stars beneath your feet." She actually smiled when she took the transporter platform. "Good luck to you, Picard."

"Thank you, Admiral. Your assistance has been invaluable."

Nechayev straightened up and prepared for transport. "Thank me when you see your son."

* * *

The hiss of the door opening and closing roused Beverly from her doze. She shouldn't have been napping. She had a lot of reports to go through and the last thing she remembered was sitting down to go through them.

Dishes clinked over in their dining room. When she dragged herself to her feet, which sent a tingling ache up her spine, she found him clearing the table, munching on the last of the bread.

"You found company for dinner." Setting the plate from the pasta back into the replicator, Jean-Luc looked over the table. He stole a tomato from the salad in the large bowl and smiled when she caught him. "It looks good."

Beverly ran her hand down the back of his neck. The soft fringe of hair he still had left was familiar and comforting beneath her fingertips.

"Kathryn overloaded her replicator again. While I was healing the burn on her hand, I convinced her to eat with me instead. It seemed safer for everyone concerned."

He chuckled sympathetically. "Is Geordi angry?"

"Not angry..."

She shifted her feet, trying to ease the ache out of her back. Nothing worked.

"Geordi's fixed it four times in the last week. Apparently he's used different parts, even started rebuilding the whole unit from scratch, but she still finds a way to make it go nuts. I think it's possessed."

He wiped his hands on a towel and reached for hers. Jean-Luc held them and then pulled her close to kiss her. She could taste the remnants of balsamic vinaigrette on his lips and smiled as he held her.

"How's the baby?"

"Heavy. When she's born, you're carrying her for a while. Like the next six months or so."

The complaint was halfhearted. Shaking her head, she leaned against the table and watched as he asked the replicator for the same dinner she'd shared with Kathryn a few hours ago. Taking his steaming plate of pasta from the replicator, he sat down with the leftover bread. Jean-Luc was too much of his mother's son to waste energy replicating new bread when this bread would do.

She could apologise for forgetting to clear the table after Kathryn left, but he'd stop her before she was halfway through. Instead, Beverly sat down across from him and watched him eat. When he ate with her, he took his time. Now, since it was well past when they usually had dinner, he attacked his pasta ravenously.

"I'd say it was too bad that my first officer has such a terrible relationship with her replicator, but I like that you have an understudy for me at dinner."

Dipping his bread into the thick tomato sauce around the rim of his plate, Jean-Luc made quick work of his food.

"You were late." Beverly toyed with a lock of her hair, watching him with amusement. "Very late."

"I warned you," he said around a mouthful of food.

"That you'd be late?"

He swallowed and then chuckled. "That I was honoured to marry you, but that you'd have to share me with the _Enterprise_ occasionally."

"You're here when it counts." Reaching beneath the table to rest a hand on his thigh, Beverly reminded him how much she needed him. "When you're not in the holodeck."

Jean-Luc laughed into his napkin again and patted her hand. "You have years of medical training. I have a good deal of catching up to do."

"You don't have to know everything," she reminded him, squeezing his fingers. "Selar and all of my medical staff will be there. I didn't have any complications with Wesley. I don't anticipate any this time. Everything looks great."

Caressing her cheek with his free hand, he smiled gently. "I know. I like feeling prepared. She's my first child."

"You're going to obsess about everything," she sighed. Releasing his hand, she rubbed the foot pressing against her ribcage until their daughter retracted it. Her frown drew his attention.

"Kicking?"

"Stretching." Wincing when their daughter's foot returned to jab into her diaphragm, Beverly signed. "She's testing her limits."

"That would be your curiosity she's inherited."

"Oh no, this is your need to explore everything," she corrected. "When you're done with dinner, perhaps you would take the time to explain to your daughter that there are no mysteries in the flesh outside my uterus and if she'll just wait two more weeks, she can see for herself."

Jean-Luc obediently stopped eating and pushed out his chair. Turning hers, he crouched down in front of her so he was even with her belly.

"Your mother would like you to know that as much as she appreciates your curiosity about her body, it's very uncomfortable for her when you kick your legs around, do somersaults or reach around with your fists. Not that we want you to hold still, we'd just like you to do so cautiously. You're a lot stronger than you know."

She'd heard that tone before, when he'd been dealing with children. As much as he protested, Jean-Luc was wonderful with them and always had been when he gave himself a chance. As he stood back up, returning to his dinner, she caught him by the collar and tugged him down to kiss him. Falling deep into his mouth, she sighed and held him close, his forehead against hers.

"I love you."

"That is the idea." Holding her cheek, he kissed her forehead and returned to his chair. "I was hoping we'd stay madly in love for the rest of our lives."

Beverly's eyes stung happily and she smiled across at him. "I think I could agree to that."

* * *

Kathryn stood in front of the transporter pad, trying not to fidget. The technician behind her worked the controls and the Federation ambassador that Admiral Nechayev had personally convinced to come all the way out to the Demilitarised Zone appeared in front of her.

Ambassador Troi smiled serenely down from the transporter platform. She stood formally, hands clasped in front of her, resplendent in an orange and gold gown.

"Come now, there's no reason to be shy. How are you dear? How is that nice-"

"Ambassador, " Kathryn interrupted formally. She didn't need to talk about Chakotay now, in the corridor on the way up to the Observation Lounge. Of course, the more she thought about him, the more likely the ambassador would pull it out of her mind.

"You're exactly right, Kathryn. The more you think about his attributes, the more I can pull them out of your mind. Not that I would-" she chuckled. "Much." She paused, tilting her head and beaming. "Oh, well, I am glad you could enjoy that- and that. Oh, well, now I am impressed."

Blushing scarlet, Kathryn shook her head and realised she had to live with the fact that the sordid details of her encounter with Chakotay were far too easy for the ambassador to pick out of her mind. Lwaxana had been there, on the other side of the wall, and that appeared to have been more than enough.

"Thank you, Ambassador." Kathryn found the strength to speak eventually. She remembered the nudge she'd received towards Chakotay in the drunken fog of her mind the night before Beverly had been married. The ambassador's good-natured self-satisfaction seemed to confirm that Lwaxana had pushed her to give up her inhibitions.

"You only needed permission, nothing more. We all need to learn to bestow on ourselves more of that." The ambassador paused, and the steady swish of her silk skirts came to a halt. "You needed someone to trust. We all do. Usually we look outward, scrambling for approval because we don't know how to forgive ourselves for what we blame ourselves for wanting. Sometimes, my dear, we want what we need. You trusted me, and you had the chance to have him. You found something there, didn't you?"

Kathryn stared at her, trying to decide if the ambassador was pulling her thoughts from her mind or simply that wise from years of experience.

"I've been in love, dear," Lwaxana answered Kathryn's thoughts. "I've had plenty of chances to nurse my broken heart and wonder how the universe works. Do you know what matters? Be happy. If this Chakotay makes you happy, keep him around. Good men are a little hard to find."

Lwaxana touched Kathryn's shoulder, squeezing it like her mother would have. It had been too long since she'd spoken to her. She'd been meaning to write a letter, call her on subspace: maybe it was time Kathryn did.

Lwaxana's smile returned to brightly professional. "Now, when is Jean-Luc going to tell me why Alynna flew me all the way out here?"

* * *

Letting herself hold his hand was a concession on Beverly's part. Squeezing it as hard as she was, startled him. Beverly forced her eyes open, if she'd had them closed much longer, he would have started to worry. Even now, there was pain in her blue eyes that he could take away.

"Not the real thing." Hissing as she inhaled, Beverly shook her head before he could worry. "More dress rehearsal."

"And it hurts."

"It does. Not too much. I tensed up and it hurt more." She released his hand.

Jean-Luc wiped his palm on his trousers leg then offered it again as she caught her breath.

"Then don't tense."

"Don't tense," Beverly repeated. "Don't tense. You make it sound so easy."

He brushed her hair back from her forehead, feeling the hint of sweat along her hairline. Everyone else would arrive for the meeting any moment now, but he had her to himself until then. Leaving his chair to sit on the corner of the observation lounge's glass table, he took her hands from the cold glass of the table's surface and brought them into his lap.

"Weren't you the one telling me labour was nothing to worry about? You've done it before."

"Twenty years is plenty of time to forget what it was like before." Beverly frowned, fidgeting with his fingers seemed to calm her a little. He could see the tension slip out of her face.

"Ambassador Troi is on her way up from the transporter room right now."

Saying that as an idea with hope attached was a tad ironic, but Deanna's mother did have the might of the Federation behind her. The Cardassians would have to respect a final relief mission with a Federation ambassador at its head. Not many of the Federation Ambassadors would agree to a potentially dangerous, yet far from prestigious, mission and he had to admit that Lwaxana's unique energy would not be unwelcome. Maybe her presence would distract Beverly from the double stresses of their baby's impending birth and Wesley's disappearance.

"That's who Nechayev found? Lwaxana agreed to come out here to babysit us while we distribute medical supplies?"

Beverly's anxious tone did not mesh with her promise to relax and he caressed the back of her head. Running his fingers down through her hair, Jean-Luc leaned closer and kissed her forehead.

"I'm glad she's here."

"Oh Jean-Luc, now that's a first," Lwaxana announced from the doorway.

Kathryn followed her in, and his Number One's thoughts were elsewhere. She looked distracted as she took her seat.

Jean-Luc returned to his own, but reaching beneath the table, he kept a hand on Beverly's knee.

Data, Geordi and Worf arrived a moment later, thankfully late enough that they did not see the captain calming his wife.

"You're so rarely happy to see me." Lwaxana took her chair, her elaborate dress crinkling as she sat.

Jean-Luc cleared his throat. "In this case, Ambassador, you're exactly who I want to see."

* * *

On the fourth planet they visited along the newly-Cardassian side of the DMZ, people came out to greet them. Word must have been passed along subspace and the colonists had specific requests. They were simple people; mostly farmers and they wanted more dermal regenerators and extra supplies of vaccines.

Lwaxana had been dragged aside by a mixed group of human and Bajoran children and they seemed to be playing some kind of guessing game. She was good with children and had them laughing and running around her gleefully.

Worf stood behind Beverly. He hadn't left her side since she'd beamed down and Beverly was beginning to think of the hulking Klingon as her shadow.

"He does not appear to be here, Doctor."

Beverly stopped scanning the crowd for her son and looked over at the security chief. "Thank you, Worf."

"I am sorry."

Sighing heavily, Beverly sat down on one of the full crates of supplies. The case was hard and firm beneath her and taking the pressure off her back nearly put tears in her eyes. Jean-Luc was right, though she'd never tell him. This mission was too exhausting. Planet after planet full of unsure colonists who didn't know whether to be excited or afraid of her Starfleet uniform.

"It's all right, Worf." She had to wave him off before he started hovering protectively. "I just need a moment."

"I will remain nearby."

Shutting her eyes, Beverly rubbed the centre of her forehead. Moving her fingers outward towards her temples, she reminded herself that this was the last one for the day. After this she could go back to her quarters and she could crawl into bed for the rest of the day. Jean-Luc would fuss a little about her doing her paperwork in bed, but he'd bring her supper and they'd talk about nothing.

It was a very simple fantasy, but she took great comfort from it.

She waved Worf back over. His strong Klingon hands would be quite welcome when she got to her feet.

Instead, a transporter took her. It was a cargo transporter and the tingling sensation that enveloped her was rough, even crude. It had been a long time since she'd felt anything like it. She was tired already, and when the sheer white moment of unconsciousness arrived in the middle of transport, Beverly never came out of it.

* * *

"It was a cargo transporter, old, possibly surplus." Worf began his report at full attention. The Klingon was taking Beverly's disappearance personally, just as Kathryn would have if she had been there. "Dematerialisation took three-point-four- seconds, much slower than any of the Federation transporters from the last ten years."

"It seems to have run through a relay point, maybe two," Geordi added. " We found the first transporter relay satellite. It looks like someone cannibalised a sensor beacon, put in a transporter relay control and left it in space. It's clever but simple; anyone with a few years of engineering experience could come up with it."

Doctor Selar, who sat on the opposite side of the table than Beverly did, her hands folded in that neat Vulcan way that reminded Kathryn of Tuvok. Data sat next to her, impassive as always. All of the senior staff were tense and those who had emotions were artificially forcing their calm.

Lwaxana sat in Beverly's chair, preventing it from being empty. The lines around the ambassador's eyes were tight, and she must have been fully aware of the turmoil the captain had buried beneath his mask. Kathryn had rarely seen anyone shut down that quickly. From the initial terror that gripped the captain at Beverly's disappearance, to the white fury that someone stealing medical supplies had stolen his wife, Picard was stone.

Doctor Selar spoke when the captain's eyes landed on her. "Cargo transporters are medically safe, however, going through one or more relay stations with the low levels of power could cause transport shock and likely unconsciousness."

Data nodded quickly and agreed with Doctor Selar. "It is most probable that Doctor Picard re-materialised unconscious at the destination of the medical supplies."

"A ship, a small one that the _Enterprise_'s sensors did not detect," Worf added. "A cargo vessel or a small raider."

Lwaxana tapped her fingers on the table once, just enough to draw the captain's attention. He knew what she was about to say but he let her say it.

"Starfleet intelligence believes some of the colonies along the demilitarised zone are amassing resistance to the Cardassians. A number of Starfleet officers have resigned their commissions to join a resistance group calling themselves the Maquis. While I was down on the colonies with Doctor Picard, Admiral Nechayev had tasked me to see if I could sense any of the members of this Maquis."

Betazoids did make exceptional spies and Lwaxana was rumoured to be one of the more powerful telepaths of her species. Kathryn's respect for the ambassador rose.

"The colonists are concerned, and afraid, but there's an undercurrent of anger towards the Cardassians that goes far beyond simple unrest."

Kathryn met Picard's eyes, feeling the pain in them as if she touched a live plasma conduit.

"The Cardassians are a difficult race to trust," Picard said, drawing the room back to silence.

Worf snapped his head to look at his captain. "The transporter beam that took Doctor Picard was not Cardassian."

Picard's chin barely moved as he nodded. "So we'll need to deal with the Maquis."

"Starfleet has no formal contacts with the Maquis." Lwaxana again spoke for Picard. "Starfleet intelligence is only recently certain of their existence. There are only a few agents undercover, most of them so tenuously planted that we can't risk contacting them."

Chakotay's last letter had mentioned his resignation from Starfleet. He'd glossed over the death of his father, and Kathryn had read the anger between the words. The Cardassians had taken his father, just as an icy little planet had taken hers. The hatred she had turned on herself over the years since his death had dulled slightly but the wound would be raw for him. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but if there were an organised resistance to the Cardassians, Chakotay would be part of it. His family was from near here.

All eyes came to her when Kathryn cleared her throat. "I might have a way."

* * *

"I told you it wasn't safe to transport a person that way!"

Wesley jogged up the desert hill where the raiders landed. B'Elanna, a temperamental half-Klingon woman who'd been a year behind him at the Academy and had a brilliant mind for engineering, emerged with Seska, one of the Bajorans.

Seska sat down on the ramp and shrugged. "We didn't mean to transport a person. She must have been with the medical supplies when we beamed them out. It's not our fault."

"We kidnapped a Starfleet officer." B'Elanna met Wesley's eyes for a moment before she started to pace at the bottom of the ramp. "We're not supposed to have any interaction with Starfleet. They're not the enemy."

Seska glared at her. "The Federation abandoned us-"

"It was a bad treaty; they thought they were preventing a war. It's not like the Federation threw all of these colonies to the wolves." Wesley advanced on Seska, and she stared up at him as if she wanted to press her sidearm into his neck. He looked past her at the dark cargo area of the raider.

Tom Paris was on the medical rotation today, and he and another Maquis were bringing out the Starfleet doctor they'd accidentally kidnapped.

B'Elanna punched Wesley's shoulder as she passed him. "Your transporter relay system worked great."

"Thanks, I-"

Wesley stopped dead in his tracks. He'd been worried he might know the doctor, or that he or she might know him and it would get back to his mother that he was in the Maquis. He didn't want her to know that. Let her think he'd run off because he was an angry young man, not that he was a foolish, idealistic man looking for a fight with the Cardassians.

Tom had the head of the stretcher, and he paused on the ramp leading out of the Maquis raider to nudge the hand of the kidnapped Starfleet doctor back to her chest.

"Hey, Wes. You okay? She someone you-"

Wesley's heart was in his throat, and the blood rushed through his ears. His hands started to sweat and he kept his arms firmly at his sides. Touching her might make it real.

"She's all right. Nasty case of transporter shock, and her extremities are going to be a little tingly for a few days."

Tom was trying to calm him, but nothing the older man might say could make it any easier. Tom's voice softened as he spoke, growing more apologetic.

"Hey." B'Elanna grabbed his arm. "Whiz Kid. It's okay. He said she was all right."

Wesley shook his head slowly. He'd expected Doctor Selar, or Doctor El-Abhim. Maybe one of the nurses. Certainly not...

Tom shifted the stretcher and the part of the Starfleet doctor's long red hair tumbled over the edge.

"The baby's fine too. Though, it kinda makes getting her back home a priority. Don't suppose we can just hail whatever ship she came from and have them come pick her up-"

"The _Enterprise_. She's from the _Enterprise_. Her name is Doctor Picard. She's the chief medical officer."

Wesley wasn't sure if he'd said it aloud, but everyone around him had their eyes on him, so he must have managed.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and hoped his voice didn't sound as lost as he felt. "She's my mother."

"Way to go." Tom rolled his eyes towards B'Elanna. "You kidnapped Whiz Kid's mom."

B'Elanna glared at him in disgust.

Seska seemed vaguely amused by the whole situation. "How were we supposed to know she was with the medical supplies?"

"We can send her back," B'Elanna added. "She'll be fine." She touched Wesley's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "She'll be fine. Chakotay will make sure she gets home."

"My-" Wesley choked on the word, his voice barely working. "My sister's due in less than two weeks."

"Then we'll get her home fast." Tom smiled at him, trying to calm him. "Look, Whiz kid, we're not kidnappers. You know we won't hurt her. We'll get her home, okay?"

Wesley wanted to believe Tom's friendly look and B'Elanna's hand on his shoulder. "Captain Picard's going to be looking for her. The _Enterprise_-"

That drew Seska's attention. "He'll drag the _Enterprise_ through the Badlands to find his wife?"

"Wouldn't you?" Tom nodded to the other man carrying the stretcher. "Let's get her inside."

Wesley followed them into the stand of buildings that made up the Maquis village. Chakotay was the leader of this cell, and he was a kind, intelligent man. He knew that Chakotay had known his mom on Earth and he'd been at the wedding. Wesley knew that Chakotay would ever let anything happen to his mother. Not that it made it any easier.

Did protecting his mother mean that she would have to stay here until they found a way to send her home? She was safe here, but Captain Picard wasn't here and she couldn't have the baby here. She couldn't.

He'd stopped listening to B'Elanna and Seska argue and he didn't follow Tom into the house they used for an infirmary. Wesley stood there in the dusty street, trying not to think about why his mother had beamed down on a suspected Maquis planet. He couldn't believe Captain Picard had let her and for a brief moment, he let his rage burn against the captain for letting her go.

But he couldn't blame Picard. This was his fault. She'd obviously been looking for some news about him and his mother had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Chakotay touched his shoulders, almost hugging him. He had been told and now he was about to make sure Wesley wasn't about to betray them all to get his mother home.

"I did this to her once before." Wesley swallowed hard and stared down at his feet. "I got her trapped in a static warp bubble. She almost died."

"Tom says she's fine. Transporter shock's a little like a concussion-"

Wesley didn't need to be told. "The neural pathways of the brain take a few hours to adjust to being disrupted by a prolonged transport. The effect is much more like a severe electric shock. Some neurons fire too quickly, some fire at random, but it's temporary."

Wesley looked up, searching Chakotay's face for that sense of calm Captain Picard had. "She has to be sent back to the _Enterprise_."

"We're not in the business of kidnapping Starfleet officers."

Chakotay released his shoulders and smiled at him. There was much patience in his smile. Wesley could see why he'd been a good instructor at the Academy.

"Wes, any operation to send her home has to be planned carefully. We can't give away our position here; too many lives are at stake. We can't just give her a ship and let her go because I know your mother isn't the kind of pilot who can fly herself through the Badlands on her own. We can't let her go on the edge of the Badlands because the Cardassians-"

Wesley nodded, saving Chakotay from having to finish. His father had just been killed by the Cardassians. Discussing them at all brought a cold rage into Chakotay's voice that lingered for hours. If there was one thing the Maquis agreed on, it was their hatred of the Cardassians.

"Chakotay!"

One of the Bajoran children ran up and then tugged Chakotay's sleeve so she could deliver her message. "Ayala's team is in ready."

"You don't have to come on this-"

Wesley shrugged. He knew what Chakotay was trying to do, but hanging around waiting for his mom to wake up was just going to drive him crazy.

"I'd rather go. Have something to do."

"We'll get her home."

"I know."

Wesley didn't tell Chakotay how much he hated that it was his fault, or how he wished he could do anything to see his mother safely back to Captain Picard and the _Enterprise_. Maybe if he'd had the courage to face her before he'd left, but he hadn't wanted to fight. His mom was happy with Captain Picard. She was happy with his little sister. How was he supposed to tell her he hated the Academy? Or that everything about the Federation's treaty with the Cardassians was wrong?

He'd spent his whole life doing the right thing, and now the right thing meant fighting the Cardassians because there were colonies out there that couldn't. She had to understand that. Captain Picard had to understand that there were helpless people at the mercy of the Cardassians and Wesley couldn't sit safely in his room at the Academy while people died. Not while he could help them. Not when he was just as angry as everyone around him was, and he had no idea why.

He wanted to hurt someone, remind Starfleet that they didn't have to let the universe be an unjust place that needed someone like the Maquis put things right.


	7. Rescue

_Author's note: Originally I intended to write another chapter before I eased into this piece, (which formally existed as a separate work) but I don't think I'll ever develop the interest. I apologise that these final two chapters has a significant Janeway/Chakotay component. It's where the universe took me._

Commander Kathryn Janeway had been impulsive enough to have a single one night stand in her mostly quiet love-life. Even in that she was sentimental and had kept in touch. The subspace messages they sent back and forth were far from love letters, most of hers were about adjusting to life on the _Enterprise_: of Captain Picard's quiet grace as a commanding officer and the constant teasing from his wife, Doctor Beverly Picard, that she'd come to realise was a well-meaning sign of affection. The most intimate their letters had been was the about Mark. She'd written late one night, and desperately thought of deleting it before her loneliness won out and she sent it.

Mark Johnson, who was safe, loving and gentle but had no desire to join the other Starfleet spouses on the _Enterprise_. Nothing she could say about the incredible opportunity it was for her to be the legendary Captain Picard's first officer, or how many new species and diplomatic missions the flagship of the Federation went on mattered to him. Mark wanted to stay on Earth, and while she'd been training and assigned to short-range missions like the _Bonestell_, that had been fine.

The _Enterprise_ was no science vessel, like her early postings, nor a heavily armed, short-haul escort ship like the Bonestell. The _Enterprise_ was the crowning jewel of the Federation fleet. She stayed out for months at a time, returning to Earth rarely and briefly. She was a great bird, a free, galaxy-spaning Albatross who wanted nothing more than to see what was out there and Kathryn loved it.

He understood, her lover of that one night, that the great romance of space exploration, was not a trivial fling that one could set aside for hearth and home. Home was the ship one was on and the course she followed. Chakotay understood that. When she'd received the last letter from Mark: the one that ended it, the rebellious voice in the back of her mind that had never truly believed Mark was right insisted that Chakotay would have joined her on the _Enterprise_. He would have supported her, because even through subspace, he always did.

Now, sitting in what had to be one of the the dingiest little clubs she'd ever been in, the air full of the scent of old salt, stale liquor, sweat and dirt, Kathryn tried not to think about the dreadful things that had been in her metal mug before it held the opaque, vaguely herbal swill that passed for beer on this damn planet. The bartender tossed a plate in front of her, bent metal with rice, a sauce that resembled tomatoes with the life boiled out of them and meat. The bread was tough but edible, and the sauce was enough to soften the crusts, even if it had no culinary value and barely any taste.

"I wouldn't eat much," Chakotay said softly as he passed behind her. His fingers brushed her back, displacing her hair and sending a shiver down her spine. He sat across from her, leaning low over the table. In his civilian leathers, what must serve as a Maquis uniform, he looked rakish and dark; nothing like the thoughtful Starfleet anthropologist she'd met at the wedding. The wedding was part of another life, before the treaty that had put Chakotay's home on the wrong side of the border and before his father had died defending it. There were new lines around his dark eyes and an anger in his body that smouldered even when he smiled. A new tattoo graced his temple, and if she'd had time to ask its significance, she would have, but now was not the time for curiosity.

"Our food's not gourmet, but it's better than this," he waved his hand over her plate and dropped it to hers. "I like your hair down."

"You told me to look like I was running," she replied in a whisper. Thanks to Doctor Selar, she had a fading black eye that was a sickly shade of yellowish green, fresh reddish bruises in the shape of fingers around her neck and a poorly healed scrape on her cheek. Her hair was mostly down, but dirty and unkempt.

"My compliments to your doctor," he muttered back, hiding a grin behind his cup. "She does exquisite work." He slid closer, and as she'd been told, Kathryn counted out a few coins and lay them on the table between them.

He ran his fingers over them, and then slid his hand up arm. When he reached for her face, Kathryn flinched, pulling away as if he meant to strike her.

"Good," he whispered. "Very good." Chakotay picked up her bread, taking it from her hand and giving a look that was half-smile, half-leer. "When I leave the table, wait a few moments then follow me. Keep looking around. Is your cover-?"

He didn't have to finish the statement.

Picard slunk in like a predator looking for an easy kill. He too was out of uniform, and while Chakotay's leathers held him blend in, everything about Picard's deep red and black screamed danger like a poisonous snake. He stood by the bar, but didn't order. Instead, he used it as a vantage point to scan the room. He raised an eyebrow at the Orion trader, matched gazes with the Nausicaan until he backed down and ignored all the others until he saw her.

Kathryn tried to hide, but did a poor job of it, just as she was meant to. When she tried to run, she tripped on the floor and fell perfectly into Picard's outstretched arms. His grip was kind, but his face was harsh and his voice was cruel.

"You hide here," he growled, then spat on the floor at her feet. "Here, in this cesspit. Did you think I wouldn't find you? That I can't find you on any planet, on any ship, anywhere you might attempt to hide."

She pulled back, flinching away from him as if she'd been running from him all her life. He released one arm, raising the other to cuff her across the face. Cowering in his rough embrace, Kathryn caught the apology in his eyes. Picard hadn't wanted to hit her, he thought it overkill, but Kathryn swore she wouldn't hold it against him. It was for Beverly, and that, above all other things, had convinced him.

As the alien refuse of the seedy bar backed away from them, she cowered, holding her hand against her soon to be swollen lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered, swagging in his arms. "I'm sorry. I'll never-"

He lifted his hand again, holding it over her head like a death sentence. Kathryn cried out, fleeing desperately back to avoid another blow. Picard stopped before he cuffed her and in a flash of steel his knife was in his hand. Letting it pull the fabric tight over her breasts, he traced it down her chest.

"You'll never," Picard repeated, his voice like frozen gravel. "You'll never..."

She caught his arm, pulling them together. "I'll find her," she promised. "Just do it."

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear just before the knife sank into her stomach, just beneath her ribs.

As they'd practised over and over, the blade sank into her flesh exactly where Selar had demonstrated to them. The pain took her breath away and whited out her vision. Kathryn had tears in her eyes as she sank down to the floor; both hands pressed over the wound as it began to ooze with blood. It coated her fingers and seeped into her clothing. The pain radiated from the wound, stealing breath as she fought to keep conscious.

The phaser blast cut through the silence, forcing Picard from her. Chakotay fired again, and again, until Picard was gone and the entire bar was starting to clear. In the chaos, she half-stood, dragging herself up enough for him to catch her under the arms and pull her away. As they crossed the threshold into the street, he leaned close to her ear.

"Faint and I'll carry you."

"I'm fine," she snapped back. Blood ran down her hip and was starting to reach her knee. It was messy, but it was a flesh wound. If Picard had hit her liver, she'd be dead already.

"I'm not being chivalrous," Chakotay promised her. "It's part of your cover. Trust me."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two Bajorans start to come towards her. Letting her knees go weak, she crumpled into his ready arms. He swung her up easily, as if she weighed little. Letting her head go limp was the hardest part, but she allowed it to loll over his arm.

"What did you find Chakotay?" a woman's harsh voice asked. "A lost rabbit?"

"He is one for strays," the man agreed. His voice was deeper and softer. "What will you do with her?"

"Her husband's a Cardassian collaborator," Chakotay explained. "She tried to buy her way off-world on one of our ships."

"And he didn't like it," the woman sneered. Her cool fingers touched Kathryn's cheek and neck. "Or her, apparently."

Other hands, most likely the man's pressed cloth over her wound. Kathryn jolted in pain. Chakotay flipped her up, burying her head in his shoulder as she nearly cried out.

"She'll need the doctor," the man holding her side said. "She's lucky we still have that _Enterprise_ doctor. One of ours may have had some trouble with this."

"I couldn't leave her, Seska," Chakotay explained. "We can put her in with Doctor Picard until we find a way to get rid of them both. We're not in the business of having captives."

"We could always ransom the Doctor," the woman, who seemed to be Seska, suggested. "Surely the wife of the great Picard is worth an industrial replicator or a shipment of medical supplies."

"We're not terrorists or bandits," Chakotay reminded her with a sharpness in his voice than Kathryn had never heard before. "When we can release Doctor Picard safely, we will. Until then, we are lucky she will assist us at all. She's saved several of us already."

The mechanical hum was a ship's rear hatch. Not Federation, but maybe Bajoran, Kathryn couldn't be exactly sure from the tone. Chakotay set her down in the back. Lying her gently on the floor, he checked the crude bandage on her abdomen then leaned close enough to whisper.

"It's less than an hour from here, stay quiet, we'll be there soon."

Kathryn squeezed his wrist, kept her eyes tightly closed and tried to think of anything but the pulsating agony in her side. She'd been injured before, broken bones, phaser burns, and she could work through all of them provided she had something to do. Lying in the back of a Maquis ship, she assumed she was being flown into their camp without even a communicator to beam them out when she found Beverly.

Since Beverly had gone missing seven days ago, Captain Picard had been beside himself. If she had met him now, she couldn't have been able to tell, but over the last few months, Kathryn had learned that his emotions were there. Starfleet had been torn between launching a full assault against the Maquis or trying to find some way to relate to them. The Maquis had no formal leader and there was no way of knowing who to negotiate with, or which group had her.

Contacting Chakotay had been a long shot from the beginning but she'd been willing to try anything while Starfleet and the Federation were tied up in official channels trying to get permission from the Cardassians to search for her. Picard had no trust for Cardassians. Kathryn had read his file, but even that horrific description hadn't prepared her for the emptiness in his eyes when he'd looked across his desk and told her how much he worried for his wife's safety if she had fallen into the hands of the Cardassians.

Chakotay's insane and dangerous plan was the only chance they had of getting close to Beverly. Even if all they accomplished was making Kathryn a hostage as well, at least Beverly wouldn't be alone. She would bring her home, no matter what it took.

* * *

"Doctor, doctor, The ship's coming back," Ekahla called from the doorway into what served the Maquis village as an infirmary. Beverly sighed, pulling her thick red hair tighter into the band that held it. The little Bajoran girl was quick with her enthusiasm and slow with details. Would anyone else on the ship be injured? Were they bringing the medical supplies they needed? Were they finally over their obsession with security and ready to let her go?

An overzealous Maquis transporter program had brought her aboard a raider that was trying to steal medical supplies from the _Enterprise_. Unable to transport her back without risking their capture, the little ship had fled the _Enterprise's_ tractor beam with her on board. As captors went, the Maquis were polite, stand-offish, stubborn and paranoid, but polite nonetheless.

She dragged herself off the stones, cursing fate for bringing her to this desperate place when her body was least able to handle it. Thirty-seven weeks was far too close to her due date for comfort, but she would be fine. She had time, Beverly reminded herself. Jean-Luc's daughter, their daughter, would just have to wait to be born until she was home safe on the _Enterprise _and that was all there was to it. She didn't have to go far from the makeshift infirmary before Chakotay brought her patient to her.

"One of the Cardassian collaborators stabbed her," Chakotay explained as he lay the unconscious body of the petite woman on one of the unoccupied cots. "It didn't seem serious, but she lost consciousness on the ride back."

"I suppose I should be grateful she didn't get in the way of a disruptor," Beverly replied darkly. She grabbed one of the stolen medkits, the one she'd made her favourite over the last few days, and slowly sat down on the floor. Crossing her legs made it possible to sit for awhile, but nothing was ever comfortable.

One of the elders, a woman who was part of Chakotay's former village called Iabara, touched her shoulder and handed her a cup of tea. "I'm sure you'll put her right, Doctor. The spirits think well of you."

"Thank you," she said, taking the tea. "Tell them I appreciate their support."

Beverly held her tea in one hand, opened her kit with the other and ran a tricorder over her patient. She was human, female, around thirty-five years of age. She was either military or led an exceptionally dangerous life. She'd had several injuries repaired over the years, and most of them in a Starfleet hospital. Beneath the blood-soaked make-shift bandage on her side was a deep knife wound that had just skimmed the patient's liver. She took a long drink of her tea and set it down. This would take awhile, whether the spirits helped her or not.

Glancing up at the patient's face, Beverly gasped in shock. Even with the bruises, her freshly swollen lip, the dirt and the scrape across her cheek, Kathryn was easily recognisable. She dragged the tricorder back up and kept reading. The bruising was faked, brilliantly so but the split of her lip was real. Beverly had taught Selar that technique for creating old bruises and she recognised it. So they'd snuck her in here by letting Chakotay rescue her. He had to be involved. He'd met Kathryn before and Beverly knew they'd maintained a correspondence.

Filling a hypospray with a local anesthetic, Beverly numbed Kathryn's abdomen and studied her clothing. She could ease off the jacket, but the undershirt was ruined.

"Ekahla," she called. "Ekahla, my patient is going to need a shirt. See if you can find one, will you?"

The girl nodded, running up to take a look. "She's human."

"Yes," Beverly answered, using her laser scalpel to split Kathryn's shirt down the front. "Chakotay said she was trying to get away from a Cardassian collaborator."

"Why would anyone work with them?" Ekahla asked, her young face contorting with hatred. "The Cardassians are monsters."

Beverly sighed, she couldn't just say they were, even if she believed most of the time. "Sometimes it may seem that way. I don't know much about Cardassians, I've never talked to one the way I talk to you. I've never had one trust me, and I never trusted one of them."

"I'll never trust one."

"You never know," Beverly smiled at her as she finished peeling Kathryn's shirt from her body. "When my Grandmother was a little girl, younger than you are, she was terrified of Klingons. She thought all of them were monsters and she didn't know how we could ever be friends with them."

"The Klingons have rules," Ekahla argued. "They have honour. If they made a treaty with us, they would keep it. Not like the Cardassians."

"Now I have a friend who's a Klingon and he would agree with you. They've been our allies for a long time and we have great respect for each other's cultures." As she worked, Beverly pulled cotton out of the stab wound and wished, for the hundreth time since she'd been kidnapped, for a biomedical scanner. If she had sickbay, she could construct the wound on her screen and clean it automatically. Here she had to use the microforceps and do her best on her own.

"But my grandmother was still afraid of them once," she continued.

"Are you saying my grandchildren might be friends with a Cardassian?" Ekahla asked suspiciously.

"Stranger things have happened in the universe," Beverly promised. "Now, if you go find me that shirt, I can be done with her injuries by the time you get back."

The child scampered off and Beverly sighed heavily. Refugee camps and shattered villages were no place to grow up. If these villagers had just allowed the Federation to resettle them, Ekahla could be in school instead of learning morality from a kidnapped Starfleet doctor with an awful crick in the base of her spine.

"I don't know what Jean-Luc promised you in exchange for coming out here," Beverly muttered sarcastically down Kathryn's unconscious form, "but it better have been something good."

"She came because she knew me," Chakotay said, emerging from the shadows of one of the doorways. He had a way of being everywhere. "I heard you talking to Ekahla."

"You don't agree," Beverly replied, digging a few threads of out the fringes of Kathryn's wound. She was almost ready to sterilise it.

"You have an optimistic heart," Chakotay continued, crossing the room to kneel down next to Kathryn and watch Beverly work. "She took a great risk coming here."

"You took a big risk helping her save me," Beverly reminded him. "I know how your people feel about Starfleet, and it's just a few steps higher than how you feel about Cardassians." Her comment was light enough, but his face hardened into a stone mask of anguish.

"This isn't Starfleet's concern," he snapped, suddenly cold. "If it was, the Cardassians wouldn't be a problem and a lot of people would still be alive."

Beverly recoiled a little, keeping her eyes on her work and taking the attempt at levity out of her tone. She finally had the wound clean enough to sterilise and she ran the sterilising field over Kathryn's skin again and again before she used the smaller unit to clean the inside. The liver damage would only require minor work and the injury itself was almost perfectly benign.

"Who stabbed her?" she asked, trying to change the subject. "It's a little extreme to actually wound her before bringing her here."

"Her service record is too clean," Chakotay replied, taking the sterile generator from her hand and holding it up with a light so she could work easier. "No one would believe someone with her record going rogue for the Maquis."

"You couldn't just pass her off as a former lover who just couldn't live knowing she was apart from you?" Beverly asked, trying her smile again.

This time he returned it. "You're a romantic."

"A hopeful one," Beverly retorted. Her laser suture ran over the damage to Kathryn's liver and she had to trust her experience as much as her tricorder. She'd had worse conditions, but this was frustrating. She just had to rely on her senses. "If this was your work, you were just a little too low. Half a centimetre higher and I wouldn't have to repair her liver."

"That was Captain Picard," Chakotay explained, grinning a little. "He made a very convincing merciless thug."

"And yet I can never get him to take a part in any of my plays," Beverly complained, sealing a vein that had been responsible for most of the bleeding. "There we go," she murmured victoriously. "It's just the skin and muscle tissue now."

"She'll be all right?"

"I'm a miracle worker, remember?" Beverly teased. The crick in her spine ceased being painfully numb and flared up to an electric, shooting pain before she had to shift position.

"And you?"

Beverly set down the laser suture and rolled to her hands and knees. Stretching slowly in a yoga pose, she eased the pain away for the moment. When she sat back up, Chakotay was watching her. "I need to go home. Not that I don't trust you or the people here; I belong with my husband." She smiled weakly down at her belly before she looked up at him. "I've been promising him he'd be there when she arrives. It means a lot to him."

"Kathryn knows that," he said, taking a long look at the pale skin Beverly had just repaired. "I think that's why she volunteered after I sent her a really terrible plan. Captain Picard has had quite an effect on her."

Beverly smiled a little easier when he relaxed.

"I can't stay here too long, but I'll come check on you both when she wakes up." He touched Kathryn's shoulder as he passed. There was a sweetness and a familiarity in the gesture that spiked Beverly's curiosity. When Kathryn was awake again, at least they'd have something to talk about.

* * *

"We could just pass them both off to the Orions," Seska growled. "Let them deal with them."

"A non-aligned transport, the Yridians or the Grisari, would be kinder," B'Elanna volunteered from her seat on the floor. "Doctor Picard can claim asylum the moment they cross the Federation border. The Orions can't be trusted to turn them over to Federation authorities."

"But they will turn us over," Mike argued. "How do we know that we can trust Doctor Picard and this woman not to tell Starfleet everything they know."

"A woman who was unconscious when we flew her in?" Chakotay reminded them, wishing they didn't have to be so paranoid. "She knows very little about us. Unless she's capable of finding her way by the stars and drawing a map for the Cardassians." He glanced around his fellow Maquis. It was far from a staff meeting on a Starship or a morning briefing at the Academy. His life had once been organised, full of rules and regulations and now he had ramshackle democracy and two Starfleet officers he was honour bound to get home.

"I'll wait for Macias and Kalita," Chakotay decided for his group. "We'll decide when they get here." Seska's expression was still dour, but B'Elanna and Mike were both happy to take him at his word and move on to the next problem in their day. A fussy targeting scanner on one of the raiders and a shield grid badly in need of repair before it went up against the Cardassians again. Beverly and Kathryn were his problem, and with the exception of Seska, who trusted no one, everyone else in his camp would welcome having a doctor and ignore yet another human refugee as long as Kathryn made herself useful.

He sighed, leaving the small stone building they used as headquarters and walking out along the edge of the cliff. The view wasn't much during the day. The Badlands made for lousy skies that were more grey-brown then blue, but the sunsets and sunrises were nothing short of incredible. He leaned against a scrubby tree and let the smell of the wind ease his thoughts. He was a rebel, not a monster and he would find a way to get both of them home safely. The sun sank down towards the distant mountains and turned the lowest rim of skin to orange.

Perhaps Beverly had been right all along. It would have been easier to have made a deal with her husband as soon as they'd taken her. Everything he knew of Captain Picard suggested he was a reasonable man. Anthwara respected him very much, even though he had not been able to write a workable treaty with Picard. If the _Enterprise's _captain commanded that much respect from a wise leader like Anthwara, then perhaps they could...

They could what? Put Beverly and Kathryn on a raider just outside the Badlands and let the _Enterprise_ pick them up the next time they were on patrol? The chances were just better than 50-50 that a Starfleet ship would pick them up first. Even then, all it took was one gung-ho Starfleet security officer who wanted to bring down the Maquis and Chakotay would have two more deaths on his conscience. The Caradassians had taken too many. They would never get their hands on Kathryn. Not while he still had breath to fight them. Did she know that? Had she been so willing to throw herself into his hands because she still trusted him?

He'd been sure that once he'd left Starfleet her letters would have stopped. At the very least he'd expected a subspace lecture on the finer points of Starfleet duty and obligation. Instead of fire and disappointment, all she'd had for him was empathy. Her father was dead and losing him had sent her into a spiral of depression so dark that she'd never expected to leave it behind. Chakotay had read her letter with a mute kind of envy. Perhaps depression was the same as anger, only directed inwards instead of outwards like his rage.

"No irons?" Kathryn asked, calmly strolling along the ridge towards him. "I came to and I wasn't chained to the bed."

His laugh was a lot darker than it would have been just a few months ago when they met. The innuendo she meant gently stirred something in his stomach. Beverly had healed the bruises on her face, real and faked. Kathryn's thick auburn hair was down and the simple, undyed shirt they'd found for her was just too large enough to make her look smaller. She'd had to roll up the sleeves and the split neckline fell just a little lower than was decent.

"We're civilised barbarians," he replied, smiling as she ducked under a branch and chose one to lean on. "It's good to see you in the flesh, even if the circumstances are less than ideal."

Kathryn's infectious little smile faded and she reached for his shoulder "Chakotay-"

He knew she was about to mention his father, and instead of letting her dredge up that pain, he stroked her cheek. When she didn't pull away, he slipped his fingers deeper into her hair and pulled her close enough to kiss. With the tree branch between them, he couldn't pull her that close to him. She gasped, surprised by kiss but she met his ardour instead of pulling away. Her ips were warm and sweet. Tasting her, Chakotay remembered better times.

"You deserve better," he whispered as they broke apart.

"Than you?" she smirked, ducking under the branch between then and insinuating herself between him and the trunk of the tree. The bark rustled behind her and he dropped his hands to her slender hips.

"Than Mark." He'd read that letter twice before he'd thrown the PADD across the room.

"I knew it wasn't going to work," she confessed, her hands clinging to the tree behind her. "I never would have-"

"But we did." He ran his hand up her side, brushing his thumb over her breast.

Kathryn's smirk returned and her knee brushed against his leg. "Well, I'm not the not the type to jump into bed with just anyone."

Chakotay had known she felt guilty. One drunken night together was nothing to feel guilty about in his mind, but she'd been the one with the fiancé. They'd left it alone, becoming friends who never spoke of their beginning. Now she was free and he was the one trapped. Mark had redeeming qualities, and he'd made her happy when she'd needed someone. The Maquis couldn't make him happy, but it did keep him the rage from burning through the last of his humanity.

She let go of the tree and pulled his head down to kiss him. Kathryn kissed him harder than he had, invading his mouth with her tongue. Pressing her against the tree, Chakotay lifted her slightly off the ground before she let him go.

He held her cheek, losing himself in her deep blue eyes. "I can't be more than this."

"Who said I wanted anything more?" Kathryn purred. She flicked her eyes wickedly from left to right. "So, your bunk or mine?"

He backed away, letting her free long enough to take her hand and lead her away. "I have something better."


	8. Acceptable Risk

Sunset forgotten, they walked through the trees as the light faded. The lazy desert insects droned around them and Kathryn stuck close behind him.

"The stars will be out soon," he promised, sliding her back down. "They're a little blurry because of the plasma storms, but they're definitely worth a look."

The ridge behind the village looked out onto a vast empty valley. He waved his hand over the dark vista and grinned at her as they stopped. "When the sun's up you can see for several kilometres."

Chuckling, she followed his hand and put her hands on her hips when she faced him again. In the waning light, she was black and grey silhouette, but his mind was more than capable of filling in her beauty.

"When it's dark I can see about a metre," she quipped. "Maybe half."

"Come towards the sound of my voice," he teased, backing along the trail he had memorised.

"It's not that bad, Chakotay. You're the black blob against the grey."

She still took his outstretched hand and held it firmly. When they reached the rock outcropping where he meditated occasionally, he sat down. The stone behind him was still warm from the day and being able to put some distance between the village and himself for a little while always calmed him.

Kathryn stood over him, still peering out at the darkness. There wasn't much to see now that the sun was almost all the way down, but it didn't seem to bother her.

He reached up his hand to her, stroking her thigh to gain her attention. She turned her face down towards him and he could make out a smile.

"It's beautiful here, isn't it? All desert and stubborn trees as far as the eye could see." She sank down next to him; her gaze suddenly on him instead of the vista. "Is it better than Starfleet? Being out here? Are you-"

"I don't think about it," he explained, reaching for her waist and pulling her closer.

She straddled his leg, almost in his lap. Kathryn's voice was soft, and he could imagine seeing sympathy on her face. "You think about Cardassians."

Chakotay's dry chuckle was humourless and made her smile that much more poignant. "I think about my people. I think about keeping them safe."

Kathryn began to argue, but she stopped herself before he had to. "I didn't come out here for you," she told him, but he wasn't sure if either of them believed it. "I'm here to bring Beverly home."

"That was your plan," he corrected her, running his hands up to cup her breasts before pulling her ever closer to him. "Right now, you're out here for me and that's nothing shameful."

She kissed his cheek and Chakotay felt her smile. "I've never been ashamed of you."

He caught her top and tugged it free from her trousers and belt. Beneath the borrowed shirt, all she wore was a thin, flimsily-not-Starfleet, bra. Her nipples responded immediately to the friction of his hands as they passed over her breasts. She sighed, changing position to kneel over his lap. The weight of her was slight, and he eased her closer still. He wanted the heat of her directly over him as his arousal began to harden further. Kissing her had been more sensual than anything he'd done for the last few weeks since his father had died. He hadn't felt much since then, but Chakotay felt her now.

Her fingers nimbly began to pull his shirt off his shoulders. He helped her and shrugged out of it. Laying it on the stone, he nuzzled her breast through her bra until he earned another breathy little gasp. Kathryn removed it herself impatiently, then guided his fingers to the incredible soft flesh of her breasts. They filled his cupped hands, surprising him again with their abundance. Her uniform hid her figure too well.

Kissing her as he crushed her to his chest, he put aside the gnawing anger in his gut and tried to remember how he'd been before, when he'd been innocent. The last time he'd been pressed against her body, he'd believed in the universe. He'd had principles and dignity. Now touching her was as close as he came to dignity, and her trust was his only honour.

Kathryn wriggled free of her trousers, letting him explore the smooth, naked skin of her legs. She kissed his neck, sending heat racing down his spine. He slid his right hand up her inner thigh until he could stroke her clit through her panties. Her moan urged him on and he slipped one finger beneath the fabric. She was as wet as he was hard, and he curled his slick finger up from her entrance to rub across her clit. Her breathing sped, and she moaned just to tease him. Her tongue was more insistent, demanding more of his mouth.

She tugged her panties free and added them to the pile of discarded clothing. The cool night air was exquisite against his damp skin and the heat of her was more than enough to keep him warm. She reached into his trousers, warpping her hand around his dick and running the length of it. Even the dry touch of her hand was enough to make his body ache for her. She teased him a little, circling the tip with her thumb and brushing him against the all too soft skin of her inner thigh. He released her breasts, caught her hips in his hands and pulled her firmly down. She had little choice but to take him inside of her, and her teeth nipped at his neck with the shock of penetration.

She rocked from one side to other, just enough to fit him comfortably in the tight wetness of her. Normally, he would have flipped her beneath him, but he wanted to spare her the stone against her skin and let her keep control. Kathryn rose on her knees, letting him slide free just a little before taking him deeper than before. She kissed him again clumsily. Her lips ran rough over his as she found a rhythm. He tortured her breast, sucking the nipple until she cried out and he took the other into his mouth. At first she was slow, using a steady rotation of her hips, but as he found her clit again, her use of him grew more desperate.

Rocking her hips down and taking him deep, she panted into his neck. He held her hips, keeping her balanced as she arched her back and leaned away from him. Braced on the rock behind him, he thrust up into her, meeting her with a counterpoint that had them both walking the razor's edge of release. He fumbled with her clit, then smoothly began to roll it between his fingers. She tugged at his wrist, but he kept it up. First she gasped, pressing her forehead into his chest. The gasp became a moan, then a slow, halting cry. He grabbed her shoulders, holding her firm against him while the shaking her her body and the spasms of her around him sent him over the edge into the white-hot abyss. He marked her neck, claiming her as he spilled himself within her.

The stone behind him held him up, and he held her until both of them remembered how to breath again. She lay over him for a time, warm and content. Kathryn kissed his forehead, then his temple as she began ease herself away.

She traced his tattoo in the dark and her fingers followed it so perfectly she must have already committed it to memory. "This is new."

"For my father," he replied, reluctantly handing her back her bra. He pulled her close and kissed each of her breasts before letting her go.

"Sometimes I wonder if I wear the uniform for mine," Kathryn confessed, helping him back into his shirt. "After he died, when I thought about leaving Starfleet, I wondered if I was only in it to make him proud."

He chuckled again, but this time he felt it all the way down in his belly where he'd been a long time without laughter. "Not you, Kathryn. You're in Starfleet because you love it."

"Seems to be the only thing I can love," she replied softly instead of bitterly.

The wind was cool, and he could feel the rain in it. Storms were rough in the desert and they'd had all the time they were going to get. Reluctantly dragging both of them to their feet, he held her face long enough to seal the lines of her into his memory. "Your love is endless," he promised her. "You just need someone worthy to receive it."

She kissed him, holding him close and sharing his soul. There may have been a tear on her cheek as she held him, or perhaps it was the beginning of the rain.

"Storms here are brutal, we have to go." He held her hand, walked her back to the village, and put Kathryn Janeway back into the safest part of his mind. She was too pure for him as he was now. His darkness would never be able to let her go without singeing her.

* * *

Even though Kathryn tried to be quiet, Beverly had been a mother too long not to hear someone sneaking in. She opened her eyes, surfacing slowly from sleep. The wind had picked up since she'd fallen asleep, and it wailed around the little building that was her prison.

Kathryn took off her boots and padded across the stone in her bare feet. She sat down on the bed across from Beverly, and in the weak light of the old Bajoran lantern, Beverly could make out the marks on her chest and neck that were slowly darkening.

"I know those weren't there when you left," Beverly quipped, yawning into her pillow.

Kathryn startled, pulling up her shirt to hide them. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It doesn't take much," Beverly promised, rolling heavily to her side so she could watch Kathryn blush. "I see you found Chakotay."

Kathryn's face contorted through several kinds of chagrin before she finally smiled. "I did."

"And?" Beverly baited. Manoeuvring her pillow so it was easier to look over at the other woman, Beverly waited for her to elaborate. "Kathryn, you can't just come home in the middle of the night after being out in the desert with the darkly handsome ex-commander. Especially not with those kinds of marks."

Sighing, Kathryn tried to get a good look at her neck. "Is it that bad?"

"You didn't tell me he was a biter," Beverly teased her mercilessly. She waved ehr hand towards the medkit by the door. "Come over here with that and I'll help you."

"He didn't bite," Kathryn protested. "At least, I don't think so."

"You bruise easily," Beverly reminded her gently. "Pale skin like yours shows all the marks. Trust me." She paused to frown a little. "A certain captain of the Enterprise may have given me more than my share of suspicious marks."

Kathryn looked mortified at the thought of her commanding officer that way, then she relaxed.

Beverly kept up her smile and wished there was a way she could work without sitting up. "Closer. I don't want to have to leave my bed."

That brought Kathryn's giggles to the surface and Beverly beamed at her. It was easier when she could make her laugh.

"He bites?" Kathryn asked, curiosity winning over her good sense.

Beverly used the wall and the side of her bed to drag herself up to a sitting position. The great weight of the baby was heavy and solid. She buried every wish she had to have her own body back. She would not have this baby in a Maquis camp, no matter how much more comfortable she'd be with it born.

Kathryn set the med kit on the bed beside her, and Beverly knocked her pillow down so she could sit on it.

"He gets carried away," Beverly answered coyly. "I'm sure if I bruised less easily, it wouldn't even be a problem. However, If he lingers too long, my skin loves to turn purple and remind me he was there. Just like yours," she finished, taking a look at the marks circling Kathryn's neck and breasts. "A little dermal regenerator and you'll be alabaster again."

Smirking in response, Kathryn obediently dropped the straps of her bra from her shoulders. "You miss him."

"I feel like part of my soul is gone," Beverly corrected, beginning with the darkest mark on Kathryn's neck. "I wake up and think he's here. I have dreams so vivid I'm absolutely convinced I'm back home on the _Enterprise_. Yes, I suppose that means I miss him." She set the regenerator down and winced and the baby nudged uncomfortably up towards her rib cage. Overhead, the rain began to lash the roof. The tiles forming the roof made each drop loud and percussive. "You know the worst part?"

Kathryn shook her head. "No."

"It's been nine days," Beverly replied, mocking her own pain. "I'm going crazy without Jean-Luc and it's been nine days since I've seen him. If that's not-"

"Romantic-"

"Pathetic-" Beverly finished with a wink. "I don't know what is."

"I think you're allowed to miss your husband," Kathryn insisted. Her sincerity was touching and Beverly tucked a stray lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. The _Enterprise's_ first officer was kind enough to let the extremely maternal gesture go with remark.

"God, I miss him," Beverly agreed. "II can say that much, but anything more I try to avoid mentioning. If I think about it too much-"

"It gets impossible," Kathryn finished for her. The dermal regnerator hummed and obediently chased the last traces of bruising from Kathryn's chest.

Beverly patted her cheek and that drew a look that reminded her of Wesley when he was embarrassed by her. Kathryn was nearly her age, she didn't need to be mothered. Yet, it was nearly impossible to stop herself.

"Sorry," she said with a grin. "I'm doing it to everyone."

"It's charming," Kathryn promised, pulling her shirt back on. She started to leave, but a sudden crack of thunder stopped her cold.

Beverly looked up at the roof, wondering if it would hold as the storm increased its fury all around them. The rain grew steadily louder and angrier, lashing the tiles of the roof like the drums in a Klingon opera. "I think we're all right," she concluded. "It's rained here before and we were fine."

Kathryn's eyes were still on the ceiling and Beverly easily read the tension in her body. She knew how to recognise fear and it was written all over the other woman's posture.

Patting the bed next to her, Beverly resigned herself to not going back to sleep. "Did I ever tell you I'm afraid of heights?"

Standing over the bed, Kathryn glanced down at the hand offering her a space next to Beverly. She brought her gaze up from the bed and smiled weakly. "I don't think it's come up."

Thunder cracked again, this time rattling the crude wood and glass windows. Kathryn debated for one more minute before she scampered up and joined Beverly on the bed.

"Don't worry, I couldn't sleep through this anyway," Beverly lied comfortably. She could sleep through everything as a necessary survival instinct, but if Kathryn detected the lie, she said nothing. The rain grew in intensity, punishing the roof with something harder than water. Possibly hail, by the cracking noise it made.

"What was I saying?"

"Heights," Kathryn reminded her. She crossed her legs in front of her chest and held them close. She easily could have been a child, from the way she sat.

Beverly leaned back against the cool wall and stared into the weak light of the lantern. The last time it had rained, it had gone out, and now it was starting to flicker. How spoiled she was on the _Enterprise_ where everything worked all of the time.

"Jean-Luc and I," she paused and smiled innocently over at Kathryn. "It is all right if I bore you with my husband, isn't it?"

Hail, it had to be by the increase in intensity, poured down out of the sky as if the heavens themselves were falling. The lantern between their beds flicked one more time before it went out. Kathryn's back stiffened and Beverly shifted closer to the other woman.

Her daughter twisted as well, turning in the too tight space of Beverly's womb. She was lower than she'd been before, and Beverly was acutely aware that it was feet more often than arms that kicked into her ribs. Head down was good, even ideal, but she wasn't ready. Her daughter would just have to wait.

"Is this the kind of story of Captain Picard story that I pretend I've never heard, or may I tell him I know it?" The hint of teasing in Kathryn's tone was entirely at odds with the tension Beverly felt in her arm. Reaching across, she took the other woman's hand and brought it to her belly.

"Might as well air on the side of caution," Beverly teased. "I might forget to stop when I get to the juicy details."

Kathryn laughed weakly. "Right."

"I think the little one seems to share your opinion of storms," she remarked gently. No matter how easily she could have fallen back asleep sitting up, Beverly knew the baby would have her up again within the hour and she couldn't leave poor Kathryn alone in the dark listening to the chaos outside. Holding the other woman's hand tightly against her belly and the frightened child within, she sighed and pulled herself back from sleep. She could stay awake.

"I've been afraid of thunderstorms since I was child," Kathryn admitted as lightning flashed across the room. The strobe effect made crisp, terrifying shadows on the wall and Kathryn's shoulder was that much closer to Beverly's.

"I have a distinct and terrible memory of standing on the edge of a cliff on Arveda Three," she left in the name of colony in case they needed that distraction too. "I must have been three or four and I'd gone much closer to the edge than Nana ever would have let me."

"You were an explorer?"

"More rebel than explorer," Beverly corrected regretfully. "If it was forbidden, it was fascinating."

"Right," Kathryn murmured. "What happened?"

"Nothing, thankfully," Beverly continued. "I got out near the edge, wrapped my arm around a tree and stared out into what seemed to be an endless abyss of mist. It was probably less than a kilometre down, but when you're that young, it looks like a black hole. Now I think about going near the edge again, the edge of anything, even the warp core catwalk down in engineering, and my stomach drops away. My hands get sweaty and damp and I'm three years old again."

Kathryn's fingers relaxed just a little and Beverly smiled knowingly.

"So, how does the captain fit into this?"

"The captain," Beverly repeated wickedly. "You see, Jean-Luc would rather be up to his elbows in ancient things than doing anything else, except perhaps sitting on the bridge of the _Enterprise_. The last time we were near Bajor, one of the Starfleet historians exploring the ancient temples of Racantha province sent him a communiqué all about the wonders of this temple. The Temple of Earthly Enlightenment, very old, very important in the Bajoran religion, and of course, something Jean-Luc absolutely must see. So we take a shuttle down there and land on a suspiciously dull steppe. We walk down into the temple and I let down my guard because we're underground, what can possibly be up high underground?"

Kathryn's smirk was clearly visible as lightning crackled above them. Then, almost immediately, thunder shook the roof like an angry god. The storm was right on top of them.

"We walk into the chamber of reflection, which is nice enough: lots of tapestries, and it opens out into the edge of a cliff. Jean-Luc walks over to what I think is a window, maybe a balcony, but no, the Bajorans have built the chamber right to the edge of the cliff, which is sheer rock above and below us for untold distance. I grabbed his arm so hard he thought I was about to faint. I, of course, hadn't thought it necessary to tell my darling husband that heights make me want to crawl into bed with the blankets over my head."

"How long have you known each other?"

Beverly had to laugh. "Twenty-five years."

"And it just never came up?"

"We don't do a lot of rock climbing," Beverly protested playfully. "I bet you haven't told Mr. Darkly Handsome that you hate thunder."

"I've known him three months," Kathryn protested, laughing. "It's not remotely comparable."

"Have you told him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then you can't judge."

"When I've known him twenty-five years and still haven't told him, then that might apply, but now you're grasping at straws."

"Would you like to make captain some day, Commander Janeway?"

Kathryn nodded, still laughing but now regarding her curiously. "I had intended to."

"Then stop arguing with the captain's wife. It's not going to get you any closer to the big chair."

"You expect me to believe Will Riker never argued with you?" Kathryn teased, resting her head on Beverly's shoulder.

Beverly patted Kathryn's knee warmly. "He was smart enough to get off the _Enterprise_ before Jean-Luc and I got married, you, unfortunately, haven't been that lucky."

* * *

Eventually, it was Lieutenant Ro's plan Chakotay followed. Ro Laren, who was a beloved protégé of Captain Picard's ever since she'd come aboard with her bad attitude and terrible record two years ago. He'd sponsored her application to advanced tactical training, and as far as Kathryn could tell, put every effort into making the potential screw-up an outstanding officer.

Ro was also undercover. She'd been taken in by another Maquis cell, one run by a kindly Bajoran called Macias. Kathryn had seen him once or twice, and Beverly had confirmed that he was a decent man.

Chakotay believed Ro's defection from Starfleet because Macias believed her. Beverly was putting on an excellent front of betrayal on behalf of her husband, and Kathryn followed her lead when Ro outlined the plan. The Maquis would attack a Yridian convoy full of supplies. Beverly had confirmed that the Cardassians could use the contents to construct a biogenic weapon, and as disgusted as the doctor was with that idea, she stuck to Starfleet principles and argued vehemently for letting Starfleet handle the situation.

Ro had lost all faith in Starfleet, and biting speech about Picard's cowardice and refusal to accept what the Cardassians were doing to the innocent people the Maquis were trying to protect was sitrring. Chakotay was convinced. Macias was convinced, and all of the Maquis cells would work together to stop this Yridian convoy.

Kathryn had expected that the plan to get them out of the village and back to the _Enterprise_ would involve them sneaking away from the nearly empty village when everyone was gone. Instead, Beverly and Kathryn were unceremoniously led into one of the tiny Maquis raiders.

Ro slipped Beverly's commbadge back to her. "The _Enterprise_ should be able to detect you with this. Stay in the cargo area until you hear the shields power up. The pilot of your ship is the son of Admiral Paris, and the Admiral wants him home."

Kathryn knew Tom had run away from his father's anger after the accident that had killed three Starfleet officers. She hadn't known Admiral Owen Paris would go to such lengths to get his son back, but it fit with her mentor.

"Commander, when you're close enough, drop the shields, cut your engines and pretend to suffer a massive power failure. All of our ships are cobbled together and no one will suspect anything. The rest of the Maquis fleet will leave you in the nebula, and you'll be easily picked up by the _Enterprise_."

"What about you?" Beverly asked, dropping her pretense of disgust. "How will you get back?"

"I have to keep my cover," Ro answered evasively. Beverly's blue eyes darkened with suspicion but she said nothing. "Tell the captain-" Ro paused, fighting with something deep within herself. "Tell him I'm sorry. It's been a long time since I felt like I belonged somewhere."

Ro turned sharply and disappeared into the chaos of preparation.

Beverly held her commbadge in her hand and stared at it for a long time before she looked up at Kathryn. Her voice was still and flat when she spoke. "Let's go."

The tiny cargo area of the Maquis raider was less than comfortable, and the hour or so it took them to reach the Hugora nebula and the edge of the Federation border was nerve-racking. Beverly said little, Ro's very real betrayal of her husband had significantly affected the doctor.

"He was so proud when she made lieutenant," Beverly said, staring at the bulkhead behind Kathryn's head. "I don't think he would have been happier if she'd been his own daughter."

The constant hum of the warp drive stopped, and Kathryn nodded to Beverly as she got to her feet. She quickly shut down main power to the shields, and cut all the engines a moment after that. She could hear the pilot, young Mr. Paris, cursing in the cockpit. She'd have to take care of him. "Wait here for me," she told Beverly as she listened at the door.

When Tom opened it, still swearing at his feeble little ship, Kathryn was ready for him. She didn't even have to hit him once he saw Beverly behind her.

"Chakotay sold me out!" he snapped bitterly. "That son of a bitch-"

Kathryn felt for him. It couldn't have been easy to have Admiral Paris for a father, and then making that mistake must have been more than Tom could handle. And yet, instead of doing the right thing, he'd lied and covered up the death of three of his fellow officers. That wasn't someone one could just forget about.

"We need to contact the _Enterprise_," Kathryn ordered him, helping Beverly up to her feet. "I'll try to get you leniency, Mr. Paris. It'll go a lot easier for you if you help return us to the _Enterprise_ now than if I have to knock you out and do it myself."

He took Beverly's other hand and led her up to the co-pilot's seat. His anger for Chakotay didn't stretch as far as the doctor, and Kathryn had hope for the furious young man. "You're Doctor Picard," he realised abruptly. "Half the first fleet is looking for you along the demilitarised zone."

"My husband's an important man," Beverly sighed, trying to get comfortable in her chair. "Thank you, Mr. Paris."

"So what, I'm just turning myself in?" Tom asked Kathryn with an expression painfully reminiscent of her dog when Molly knew she was somewhere she wasn't meant to be.

"I'm afraid so," Kathryn said sympathetically.

"On my first mission?" Tom shook his head. "If Chakotay didn't trust me, he could have just said so."

Kathryn sighed and let Tom continue to berate Chakotay. Maybe she wouldn't have trusted him either or perhaps, Chakotay just wanted to send the young man home before it was too late for Tom and his father.

When the _Enterprise_ came into view like a great white swan in the dark ocean of space, all she could think of was going home. Beverly reached across and grabbed her hand. She was fighting the tears in her eyes, but the relief on the doctor's face was so strong it shone like a stellar cluster. The tractor beam steadied the ship and the transporters took them a moment later. After that, it was over.

Rematerialising on the _Enterprise's_ transporter pad, the three of them only had a chance to stand there for a moment before the captain had Beverly in his arms. He passed Kathryn in a blur of red and black and everyone but Beverly faded from his universe.

She stepped down with a nod to Worf. "Mr. Paris is going to be our guest for awhile."

Tom's eyes widened as the huge Klingon looked him over.

"The brig?" Worf rumbled.

"Confine him to quarters," Kathryn suggested. Perhaps there was still time to rehabilitate the young man. She'd talk it over with Picard, when she had a chance. Maybe tomorrow, when he stopped whispering to his wife and drying the tears in her eyes.

She politely looked away, waiting patiently to be acknowledged or dismissed at his leisure.

Worf pointed Paris towards the door with a sharp look. "Come with me."

Tom was wise enough to realise that arguing with a Klingon was not something he wanted to do, but not quite smart enough not to joke. "Well, if you ask me that nicely, how can I refuse?" he quipped.

Kathryn smirked, listening to Tom leave with Worf as she contemplated the wonders of a hot bath and her own, thunderstorm-free bed. She was yawning when the captain tapped her shoulder to draw her attention.

"I don't know how to thank you, Number One," Picard said with such sincerity that Kathryn's chest stung. The love for his wife radiated from him so strongly that Kathryn was humbled. Beverly had her arm wrapped around his, and she held his hand like she was never letting go. Picard had caught most of her tears, but a few still twinkled in her eyelashes.

"I still can't believe you let him stab you," Beverly teased, smiling gratefully. "He's a fencer, not a knife fighter, it's a miracle I didn't have to replace your whole liver."

Jean-Luc smiled, and to Kathryn's surprise, he chuckled as he kissed the back of Beverly's hand. "To get you back, I had to rise to the occasion."

"I'm happy to be of assistance, captain," Kathryn answered, trying not to yawn again. "Anytime."

Beverly let go of Jean-Luc long enough to hug her tightly, and the embrace startled Kathryn completely. "Thank you," Beverly whispered again. "Thank you."

"It's all right," Kathryn promised. "I'm sure if circumstances were ever reversed, somehow-" If Chakotay needed her back...

"It will be our pleasure to stage your rescue, should you ever require it," Picard promised warmly. He was rarely this exuberant with his emotions, and Kathryn suddenly understood where the depth of Beverly's affection came from. There was much more to Captain Picard than most people ever got to know.

"Ro," Beverly began, her expression darkening. "Jean-Luc, Ro's not coming back."

"No," Picard argued gently. "It's just her cover."

"She asked us to tell you she was sorry," Beverly replied just as kindly. "I don't think betraying Starfleet bothered her. All she seemed to care about was letting you down."

Picard stiffened and tugged down sharply on his uniform jacket. "I'll need a full report."

Kathryn nodded, turning for door. Might as well get started now before she really was tired. "I'll get started on it-"

Picard caught her shoulder and stopped her with an apologetic look. "You'll take the rest of the day off and join us for dinner," he corrected. "Please."

Smiling at little, she acquiesced. "Yes, sir. Thank you, captain."

Picard's eyes went back to Beverly and softened with affection. "Number One, believe me, it's the least I can do."

Watching them return to each other, Kathryn couldn't help wondering if Chakotay would ever be that glad to see her. Even if she'd ever see him again. He had so much anger to work through and it would be a miracle if he survived his desperate fight against the Cardassians. It was a miracle she was willing to spend some time praying for, if only his spirits would listen.

_Author's note: Again, I apologise this is where this ends. There's probably more out there, but I don't think I'll ever have the motivation to write it. This is a reasonably happy ending, and right now, with how I feel about this pairing, it's the best I can do. _


End file.
